Married Life
by meetmeinstlouie
Summary: A companion to "Managing Love". Charles and Elsie are now married, enjoying life together with their family and friends. The firm of Carson, Crawley & Bates still has its managers, but retirement is calling. Rated M for a reason, but there will be fluff mixed in. I loved these characters too much to leave them alone. Or rather, they wouldn't leave me alone...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is just for fun, something I intend to be read alongside "Managing Love". It's a peek into Charles and Elsie's married life together. I can't really call it a sequel; if you read all of my earlier story, you'll understand why. This first bit is longer than I intend each chapter to be.**

 **And ahem, I'm rating this M from the get-go because the characters won't behave themselves. Seriously. These goobers are going to kill me. This is M for a reason. You all love the smut from time to time, I know you do.**

 **I took a scene from the movie** _ **The Right Stuff**_ **as inspiration for the first scene. And the song is "Layla" by Eric Clapton. As before, I do not own Downton Abbey.**

 **Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends! Travel safe!**

 **I love you all.**

00000000000

 **June 2016**

Robert laughed, falling sideways. Charles caught his arm at the last moment. He raised an eyebrow at Cora, but she just laughed at her husband. Charles didn't think it was the heat in the room that caused her face to flush red.

"Don't worry, I'll get them home all right!"

He glanced at Tom, who flicked a finger against his water glass. The young man had to yell over the noise of the jukebox and loud conversation.

"I've only had one drink, Mr. Carson. I knew I'd have to drive myself home, and most likely other people as well. I don't mind!" He grinned.

"What about Mary and Matthew?" Charles bellowed. He hadn't seen them for a while, and worried about them driving. Neither one of them were in any shape to operate a vehicle.

"Phyllis and Joe took care of them." Tom laughed. "Phil texted me, said she had to throw Mary's shoes and tights onto the front lawn after her. Later, they found Matthew's belt and tie in the backseat."

The Charles Carson from three years previously would have been appalled. And embarrassed. But that man had changed considerably.

And of course, he was married himself now. He could only imagine how he'd behave if he were parted from his love for a week, much less months.

He laughed out loud, reminding himself to get details from Phyllis on Monday.

The firm had gathered at Pedro's for a homecoming celebration for Matthew. Nearly everyone had come, filling the place up. Not that the bar needed more business. Especially not on a summer Friday night. It was bursting at the seams, even with the back patio.

The evening had begun sedately enough. Charles's goddaughter was beyond happy to see her husband after so many months. Her family and friends had shared in her joy. The managing partner was elated to have the young man back as well, and not just for Mary's sake. Ever since he'd thought about retirement, he knew having a stable team in place would be essential.

And he had missed Matthew, too.

"Carson, why don't you join us for another glass?" Robert slurred, put an arm around Cora. He squeezed her bottom cheekily. She swatted his arm feebly, but anyone could tell she didn't mean it. Charles fought to keep a straight face.

"No, thank you. I think I've had enough for the evening." He exchanged another smile with Tom before pushing his way through the crowd on the dance floor. The sight of his long-time partner with his wife reminded him of his own.

Tara, the bartender, chatted with a customer. The seat at the corner of the bar was taken by a ravishing woman with flowing grey and auburn locks. Her engagement ring and the white gold ring with it glinted on her left hand. He could see her voluptuous cleavage as she laughed, her chest rising and falling. He swallowed. Concentrating, he tried to subdue his growing arousal.

He sat down in the seat next to her.

"Now why would a beautiful woman like you be sitting here by herself?" he rumbled. "Your husband must be an old fool."

She continued looking straight ahead. "He's an old curmudgeon," she said, playing with her hair, her voice smoky. She sipped her vodka on the rocks.

"He sounds ghastly," he ran his finger along the bar, leaning towards her. She shivered.

He smiled.

"Sometimes," she played with her glass, "sometimes he's away and I go home to an empty house. Like tonight. Usually my wee furry one will greet me, but friends of mine are dog-sitting her. So there'll be no one there-"

"No one to welcome you," he finished, shifting in his seat to face her, "what would happen if you were detained on the way home? No one would know."

She smirked, squeezing her breasts together. " _No_ one could stop me. I've never met a man who could."

"I could stop you. I'm faster than I seem," he breathed, the timbre of his voice low. He saw her glance at his undone buttons, his tie dangling around his neck. The silver hair visible on his collarbone. Her breath hitched. She shook her head, fighting a smile.

"Never," she said with conviction, her lilt lingering on the r. "You'd never stop me." She finished her drink, leaving money on the bar. Before she left her chair, she turned to him again. "Speed isn't everything," she purred. "I prefer a…slower pace." She left, a seductive sway in the cadence of her walk.

His trousers were uncomfortably tight. He thought he'd wait a few minutes. Give her a head start.

A blonde thirtysomething woman on his other side was openly leering at him. When he got up a couple of minutes later, she put a hand on his arm.

"I don't mind a little speed," she smiled, flicking her hair over her shoulder. He politely shook her off and walked steadily out the door. Tara snorted with laughter.

"Honey," she said to the woman, "forget it. She's his wife."

00000000000

The house was dark when he got there. He grinned, hurrying inside. _Perfect. I'll have to thank Thomas for telling me about that shortcut._

He had also flagrantly violated the speed limit.

 _You really have changed._

 _She's changed you._

Lighting a few candles, he then went to the record player. Finding what he was looking for, he slipped the record out of its case and set the needle on it.

The lights of a car flashed in the window. He went to the front door, opened it, and strode out onto the sidewalk.

Elsie made sure her lights were shut off. _It would not be good if I had a dead battery in the morning._ When she had pulled into the driveway, she wasn't sure if she had seen light inside, or if it was just a reflection from the streetlight.

She sauntered around the garage, putting her keys in her purse. She stopped dead at the sight in front of her.

Him, backlit against the open door. Open collar, hands in his pockets. Ruffled hair. Bare feet.

She bit her lip to keep back a moan. Heat pooled between her legs. _It isn't fair that he looks that good. If we were thirty years younger, he could take me in the front yard. Or anywhere, for that matter._

But she kept her composure.

"Well," she said, stepping towards him, "I'll give you credit. You made it here in time to welcome me."

"Indeed." His voice could melt a rock. She had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. "I still can't believe your husband would risk you being taken before you'd reached your front door."

She stepped to the right to go around him. He moved, blocking her way. She then went to the left with the same result.

"You see," he whispered, his breath on her face, "I told you I'd stop you from getting home."

"My husband will be quite upset," she murmured, watching his eyes flicker from hers to her lips, then lower down her body. She pressed her fingernails into her palms to keep from touching him. He hadn't removed his hands from his pockets.

"What did you call him? An old curmudgeon?" A hint of a smile played on his lips. "It sounds like you've gone off him."

"Not a bit," she whispered. "You see, he's _my_ curmudgeon, and that makes all the difference."

"Does it?" He leaned closer.

"Yes." She raised an eyebrow, trembling, on fire with the torment of wanting to touch him while also wanting this exquisite teasing to continue. "Yes, it does."

"He is a lucky man, your husband," he whispered, licking his lips.

Her breath hitched. "I am a lucky wife."

Behind them, through the open door, the strains of a song wafted from the record player.

 _What will you do when you get lonely_

 _No one waiting by your side?_

 _You've been running and hiding much too long_

 _You know it's just your foolish pride_

 _Layla_

 _Got me on my knees, Layla_

 _Beggin', darling, please Layla_

 _Darlin', won't you ease my worried mind?_

She stepped forward again, so close the rise and fall of his chest moved his shirt against her face.

He stepped back.

She stepped forward.

He continued walking backwards, with only a short glance at the stairs. She dropped her purse as soon as she stepped over the threshold. She turned and closed the heavy front door, clicking it into place.

She locked it.

When she turned around again, he was right against her, breathing hard. His eyes smoldered.

Her own breath came out in short bursts.

He bent his head down as she looked up. She opened her mouth, finally, _finally_ , feeling his soft mouth on hers. She reached up and put her hands on the back of his neck, drawing him even closer. He murmured wordlessly, his hands sliding down from her face, to her bare shoulders (she had left her cardigan in the car), down to her waist.

She made to move forward, but he anticipated her. He propelled her backwards against the door.

She gasped at the feel of the firm oak behind her and the solid man in front. His erection strained against his trousers, through the fabric of her dress.

His lips left hers, traveling across her cheek and down her neck.

 _Make the best of the situation_

 _Before I finally go insane._

 _Please don't say I'll never find a way_

 _And tell me all my love's in vain_

 _Layla…_

She writhed against him, trying to move. But the only movement she could make increased the friction. He let out a gasp, his teeth grazing a mark on her shoulder.

"Elsie…" he whispered against her frenetic panting, "we can't stay here. I…we…have to…have to stop."

 _Or I'll come right here. Which won't make me, or you, happy._

 _Definitely not you._

"No," she growled, linking her hands together behind his neck. In the back of her mind, she knew he was right. Her feet hurt, and if they ended on the floor, they would be sore for days.

At times like these, he wished desperately they were younger, more limber. Then there would be nothing stopping them from the floor, the kitchen table…

The summer before, in the city office, they had had a mind-blowing session against her office door. But he had pulled a muscle in his back that he didn't notice until the next day. It took him weeks to recover.

With extreme reluctance, he untangled himself from her, pausing only to take her hand. She held it while undoing one shoe, then the other. She flung them unceremoniously onto the couch, then blew out the candles. He pulled her across the room to switch off the record player.

They half-walked, half-stumbled down the hallway. He paused every few steps to kiss her hand, lick her wrist, and suck her fingers.

She let out a sound between a whimper and a cat, and yanked him into their bedroom.

"Kiss me," she demanded, undoing the buttons on his shirt, her hands flying. " _A ghraidh_ , touch me, kiss me, please…"

He pulled her flush against him, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. One hand slid down her back and cupped her bottom. She moaned. The other traced the side of her face before wandering lower, down her side.

They staggered across the room until she felt the smooth comforter brush against her legs. She fell backwards onto the bed as he shrugged out of his open shirt. Without stopping to remove any other clothing, he sank on top of her.

His breath was hot against her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat. She raised her legs to wrap around him, but he pushed her knees down. He nipped and sucked the top of her breasts until she cried out. Her hands were buried in his hair.

"Touch me, Charlie," she whispered. He rose up a little, pinning her beneath him with his legs. He held her eyes as he slid his hands under her lavender dress. The fabric bunched up. He gasped when his fingers found her underwear, the material soaked through.

"God, Els," he panted, kissing her knee. She squeezed her fingers around his, imploring him on. Pulling her underwear off, he tossed it over his shoulder. He gently pressed his fingers into her folds. Touching. Searching.

Slowly.

She arched her back, rocking against his hand. "More, Charlie…faster….God, _faster_ …"

"What happened," he swirled his tongue against the inside of her thigh, "to 'speed isn't everything'?"

She _hissed_ at him. "Oooh, you little _shit_! You-" Her breath faltered when he found her nub. "Mmmm, yes, there…just there,-oh-oh-oh _God_ -" Her hands splayed above her head, her fingers twisted into her hair.

He couldn't hold back anymore. Somehow, he managed to unbuckle and remove his belt one-handed, throwing it on the floor. He unzipped his trousers with a groan and shoved them down, along with his shorts. His clothing bunched around his knees, but there was no time to remove them.

Rocking against him, she untwisted one of her hands from her hair and reached down to touch herself. Her intention was thwarted when instead her fingers caressed his hot, hard manhood gliding into her wet warmth. She moaned at the sensation of him inside her, between her legs. His clump of hair brushing the soft skin of her abdomen.

He pulled out slowly, then thrust again. She looked up and saw his eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed together.

"Come to me, _a ghraidh_ , husband," she called. At the sound of her voice his mouth fell open in a yell. He poured into her, thrusting deep, then shallow, then deep again. His heart erupted in joy when she came with him, her high-pitched wails echoing in the room. She rolled against him with every thrust.

 _You, my wife, my dearest love, my friend, my soul, are everything to me. This fire, this love we share is part of us, here, hidden in our home._

 _You, a ghraidh, my husband, my darling, my confidant, are the very breath in my body. This passion, this dance between us, is ours to keep secret within these walls._

He roared, her body contracting around him. She sang his name. The walls of her sex shrank and expanded, increasing their shared pleasure. She clutched at his arms, her nails digging into the flesh. He bent over, nipping and marking the soft skin on her neck.

Raising himself on his shaking arms, he pulled out until only the tip of him rested inside her entrance. Her hips pushed forward, drawing him in again. She keened at the resistance. Touching where they were joined, her heart skyrocketed with the intense pleasure. He slammed into her with uncontrollable movements.

They could not get close enough.

She loved hearing the thunder of his voice, his gasps. His wordless shouts. With one last, hard thrust, he finished with a loud cry before resting his head against hers. A sheen of sweat lay on both of them as they kissed.

"I love you, Elsie," he murmured against her lips. "I am an old curmudgeon, but God in heaven, woman, I love you. The things you do to me-"

"Hush, Charles," she held his face between her hands, kissing him deeply. "My lovely man, _my_ curmudgeon-" she raked her fingers through his hair, "-I love you, I love your voice, your touch-"

Their words were lost in the space between their lips.

He wanted to continue for longer, continue their pleasure. But his body betrayed him.

"Sorry," he gasped as he softened. He withdrew from her and laid on his side. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye. "I couldn't hold on."

She wiggled closer to him, touching the now-pliable skin gently. Some of his seed spilled onto her fingers. She rubbed them together and brought them to her lips. She kissed them, tasting him. "Never apologize," she whispered. She kissed his cheek softly.

He smiled, his thumb caressing the side of her face. She looked down and giggled.

"Oh dear, let's get you more comfortable, shall we?" She sat up and pulled off his trousers and shorts, tossing them on the floor. He sat up with a grunt and removed his undershirt. She ran her hand on his bare chest, over glistening skin. He reached for her.

"You can't be comfortable, still wearing that," he said, turning her so he could unzip her dress. She slid it down her body and kicked it off the bed, laughing. She undid her bra and flung it away, not looking to see where it landed.

"No," she agreed. "But sometimes speed takes over." She playfully slapped his thigh.

They pulled the comforter down and climbed underneath the covers. He held her against him. Kissing her neck, he stroked her breasts. He massaged a nipple between his fingers delicately.

"Mmmm," she murmured before stifling a yawn. "Darling, you're not the only one apologizing. I'd love to go on, but it's been a long week-"

"And you're tired," he kissed her forehead, his own eyelids drooping. "So am I. Time for sleep." He kissed her nose. "Sleep well, Mrs. Carson."

"Pleasant dreams, sweet intruder," she whispered. "Next week, it's _my_ turn to seduce you."

"I look forward to it," he murmured, already half-asleep.

Within moments they were both out.

000000000000

He woke up around 3:30 and switched off the light. He groaned as he stretched himself next to his wife again, wrapping an arm around her, careful not to wake her.

 _I'm going to have to take some aspirin later._

 _It was all worth it._

He was stiff, a foul taste in his mouth when he woke again. 10:30. Jimmy and Thomas weren't bringing Pepper back until the afternoon. Which was a good thing.

He let out a breath when he got out of bed. He shuffled to the dresser and pulled out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He laughed quietly at the figure in bed. Her mouth was open, drool on her pillow. She was snoring.

 _She did have more to drink last night._

He took some aspirin, making sure to leave the bottle on the kitchen counter. Opening the fridge, he thought about eggs, but decided against it. He started the coffee, then put the kettle on for Elsie's tea.

Hearing an audible groan from the bedroom, he went down the hall. He poked his head into the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, her head between her hands.

"Els?"

"Hmmm?"

"Kettle's on. Would you like toast?"

"Uh….yes please," she said, blinking heavily. "Dry."

"Anything else?"

"Not at the moment, thank you," she said, her voice thick. She gingerly stood up and opened a drawer, fishing out a pair of underwear. She turned, looking around the room before squinting at him. "Where's my bra?"

"Um." He opened the door wider. Searching the floor, he found her dress, yesterday's underwear, his shirt, trousers and undershirt…

He looked up, befuddled, before bursting into laughter. She winced.

"Not so _loud_ , Charlie-"

"Up there." He pointed.

Her bra dangled from the ceiling fan.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wowsers, you all are awesome! I'm glad I wasn't the only one pining away for these two. A shout out to Brenna-Louise, who inadvertently gave me the name of this fic. At the end of Managing Love, she said if I was "inclined to revisit this lovely AU in the future, I'd love to see some little scenes from Charles and Elsie's married life…". I named this fic before remembering she said that, so I take no credit for the name. So please keep reviewing, and I'll use one of your comments for future use!**

 **Of course, I don't own Downton Abbey, but you all knew that already. The music that inspired this chapter is "Tempest", by Jesse Cook. Flamenco guitar. Yum.**

 _Text from Phyllis Baxter to Elsie Carson, July 27, 2016, 7:38 am_

 _Did I remember to give you a copy of the agenda from January's meeting? Wanted to make sure you had that._

 _EC to PB, 7:42_

 _Y. You put it in the file with the minutes. Thank you!_

 _PB to EC, 7:43_

 _Oh good. I've been worried that I forgot that._

 _EC to PB, 7:45_

 _No need to worry. You're very thorough, Phyllis. Charles says he never knew how he got along before you took over!_

 _PB to EC, 7:46_

 _He's had you for most of his career. I'd say you have more to do with his success than I do!_

 _EC to PB, 7:46_

 _Well, that goes without saying…:)_ _But don't underestimate yourself. You've been his best secretary by a mile._

 _PB to EC, 7:47_

 _Thank you! I hope the meeting goes well. Tell May Joe and I said hello._

 _EC to PB, 7:48_

 _You're welcome, and I will. See you tomorrow!_

The doors closed behind her, and Elsie sighed in relief at the feel of the air conditioning. Even before eight o'clock in the morning, the summer air was heavy and stifling.

The biannual meeting of office managers was held in January and July at the Merton Law Firm. On the same days, local partners also met at Merton. Elsie had missed the January meeting earlier in the year due to the situation with Vera Bates. Then, Phyllis had gone in her place.

"Ah! Elsie! It's good to see you!" May Bird was talking to the receptionist. "We're right in here. You remember it, I'm sure."

"I certainly do," Elsie stepped into the large conference room with a smile. "It's known as the fishbowl for a reason!" Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the room on three sides. "Oh, thank you for seating me with my back to the doors. That should help me to stay focused." She set down her satchel next to her chair.

"That's a detail that comes with experience, as you know," May grinned. "I had to get the secretary to re-do your name plate," she gestured at the paper card. "She forgot and typed Elsie Hughes the first time."

"I'm still getting mail with that name on it," Elsie laughed, sitting down. She pulled out her laptop and the file with Phyllis's notes. May went to direct other managers into the room. Elsie waved distractedly at various people as they came in, including Ethel Parks.

She opened her laptop and found a Post-It stuck to the screen. Pulling it off, she read his handwriting.

 _My beautiful darling,_

 _I'll see you at lunch, even if it's just a glimpse. I hope I didn't destroy your concentration completely this morning. I know I'll have a hard time keeping my attention focused._

 _I miss you._

 _Love,_

 _C_

Elsie's face grew warm as she turned her computer on. The windows to the lobby were hardly the reason she would struggle with her focus.

She couldn't blame him for that. She had started it.

0000000000

His eyes began to glaze over barely ten minutes into the meeting. What Dickie Merton had to say was, of course, important, and worth listening to.

But the memory of his vixen of a wife straddling him earlier that morning just wouldn't leave his mind.

They had been married for nearly three months. Charles didn't know why he had been expecting a change in how they felt about each other. Perhaps it came from listening to too many unhappy men who slept alone.

Not that either he or Elsie were complaining. If anything, marriage had inflamed their mutual desire even more.

 _She had woken before him, before sunrise. She lay on her side and watched him sleep. A soft smile on her face, she felt slightly unnerved by the sudden urge to wake him to make love. She bit her lip. Maybe it was unnatural, wanting him like this. They weren't young._

 _He snuffled against the pillow before his eyes opened. He grinned at her sleepily._

" _Good morning."_

 _At the sound of his voice, she made up her mind all at once. She slid a leg over his and shifted onto him. He wore shorts, but the summer heat meant his chest was bare. His stubble scraped her face when they kissed. Teasing his tongue with her own, he gasped in surprise. His eyes opened wide. Running a lone finger down his nose and across his lips, she smiled, rocking her hips slowly._

" _Good morning."_

 _He doubted he'd ever seen anything so sexy in his life. Her hair wild from sleep, one side of her sleeveless nightgown off her shoulder. His body woke up all at once._

 _Cupping her face in his hands, he traced a line of kisses across her forehead, dropping one on her nose before plundering her pretty mouth. He elicited several short gasps from her. She attempted to take off her nightgown, but he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down to his mouth._

 _He kissed her fingers, sucking each one. He lightly nipped the tip of her ring finger when she pressed it into his mouth. She didn't expect it when he abruptly dropped her hands and shifted her up, so that he lay against the pillows with her head slightly above his. Her lips were parted._

 _He slid his hands from her hips to her breasts, palming them through the thin fabric._

" _Charles…" she breathed. She wiggled her hips, feeling his erection through his shorts. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her down to him again._

 _He sucked her nipple through her thin nightgown, hardening it to a peak._

 _She cried out. He lavished her other breast-_

Dickie dropped his pen on the table. "That's why we have to approach the issue of _forum non conveniens_ from a different perspective-"

Robert blinked heavily, half-asleep. John glanced at the managing partner out of the corner of his eye, an amused smile on his lips. Charles quickly sipped some water.

He let out a long breath and loosened his collar. The room was very warm, he thought.

0000000000000

She had succeeded, mostly, in keeping her mind on the work in front of her. May's voice never changed. The second hour of the meeting began.

Elsie drifted away.

 _He responded to her cries, swirling his tongue against the side of her neck. She dug her fingers into his hair. She kept trying to move again, to kiss him, but his big hands held her firmly in place._

 _His mouth and lips teased her higher._

 _Finally, he let go of her to let her move again. She yanked off his shorts, untangling them from his feet, and sank onto his hard flesh with a long sigh. Her nightgown rode up, bunched between them. Neither of them bothered to do anything about it._

 _They moved together. He altered the angle of his hips._

 _She keened, the tone of her voice changing, like a singer jumping an octave. Rocking against him, she chased the wind._

 _He thrust into her again. Deep, shallow. Shallow, shallow, deep._

 _She shattered in ecstasy. It felt so_ _good_ _, he was so_ _good_ _, every_ _time_ _they_ _moved_ _-_

 _He roared her name in her ear, the sound mingled with her cries. She spurred him on. He did so, increasing the pace. She loved the feel of him inside her, his hands on her hips. His strong fingers caressing her legs, then her bottom. The metal of his ring against her skin._

 _She came undone once more._

 _There was nothing but him. Her man, them together, where he ended and she began, she didn't know-_

"Fancy a walk? You're probably tired of sitting." May Bird.

Elsie blinked, cleared her throat. "Yes." She took an enormous breath and tried to get her mind back into the present. Around her, people were getting up and stretching. "A break sounds nice."

 _And dunking my head in ice cold water._

 _It's like I've gone backwards forty years._

Still, she wasn't sorry. Although she hoped she hadn't missed anything important.

She and May walked to the kitchen through a maze of cubicles. "I haven't seen so much foot traffic past the fishbowl in years," May commented. "The January meeting was nothing like it."

"Oh?" Elsie asked, grateful her seat kept her ignorant. _You wouldn't have noticed even if you_ _ **had**_ _been able to see through the windows._ "What was going on?"

Ethel held the door into the kitchen open for them. "I think people were trying to get a look at you."

Elsie jerked her head at the young woman. " _Me_? Why do you say that?" She leaned against the counter.

Caroline Anstruther was in the corner, stirring her coffee. "Well, a lot of people wanted to get a look at the woman who caught the Silver Fox."

 _The_ _ **what!?**_

"I beg your pardon?" Elsie didn't want to be rude, but the comment caught her completely off-guard.

"Surely you knew," Caroline said, tapping her spoon against the lip of her cup. "Informally, that's the name Charles Carson has been known by. Oh, it's nothing _serious_ , dear," she trilled when Elsie opened her mouth in outrage. "Many attorneys and staff in the county – mostly women, but a few men as well – have called him that for _years_."

"Is this true?" Elsie turned to May. The hope that Caroline was simply exaggerating died when she saw her friend's face.

"I thought you knew," May said, her eyebrows raised. "I figured you heard it from someone years ago."

"No," Elsie replied. She felt stunned. _How have I_ _ **not**_ _heard this?_ "I was under the impression he had a reputation for being rather boring."

"Oh, certainly," Caroline sipped her coffee, wrinkling her nose as if it weren't to her taste. "Traditional. Professional to a tee. But there was always a great deal of speculation that his reserve held back, shall we say, a rather passionate heart." A smile quirked on her lips.

"When Mr. Carson got married, it seemed to prove it," Ethel said. "At least, that was the talk at my office, at Palmer."

"And the fact that his chosen bride was you only confirmed that speculation," Caroline said, her eyes beady. "After all, you must be aware over the years that _you_ acquired a certain reputation."

"And what reputation is _that_?" Elsie asked, not bothering to hide her disdain.

"I'm sure Caroline didn't mean any disrespect," May said, stepping in. Elsie repressed a snort. Caroline was unfazed.

"Of course I didn't, Mrs. Carson," she said, emphasizing the last name. "It's no secret after all – there was Steven Russell, then Pete Halton from Haxby. Oh, and before them, Martin Dye from Jones Day. I also heard once that Richard Carlisle tried to make a move on you, but you brushed him off completely. I completely understand that one, dear," she nodded at Elsie in sympathy. "Even _I_ have my limits."

Elsie went bright red. It was all in the past ( _distant past_ ), but somehow her relationship history sounded worse coming from Caroline Anstruther.

The Merton attorney sipped her coffee once more. "People wanting a glimpse of you is more a reflection on Charles than on you. Years ago, if someone said he would be married someday, many people would have thought he'd marry some frigid woman. Someone who looks like your mother. Or the stereotypical librarian."

What she didn't say hung in the air. _Not someone like you._

"People are curious, that's all," Ethel said, a small smile playing on her lips. "I suppose they feel like there's a whole other side to Mr. Carson that they never saw. And you must have another side. After all, you married _him_."

Elsie was immensely grateful that several women chose to enter the kitchen at that moment. She slipped out and headed back toward the fishbowl.

 _How appropriate._

She was devoutly grateful that none of them had any idea what their home life was like.

It sounded like people talked about it. Too much.

 _The Silver Fox? A "passionate heart"? My "reputation"?_

It unsettled her. It reminded her a little too much of Edna Braithwaite, and the knowledge that much of her and Charles's relationship prior to marriage had not been nearly as private as they had thought at the time.

 _And now everyone's watching us. What do they expect? That we'll start going at it in public?_

If she had heard of it from Beryl or Thomas or anyone at Carson, Crawley & Bates, she would have laughed.

 _It's different there. I don't mind a bit of teasing or knowing looks there. Everyone there knows us. They're like family. They_ _ **are**_ _family._

She went back into the empty conference room and looked at her scanty notes, under the pretense she was working.

 _Why does it bother me? This is nothing like the situation with Edna. Caroline's a gossip. She talks about everyone._

 _And Ethel wasn't being rude, or even nosy. She told the truth. People are just curious._

 _The Silver Fox?_

That bothered her. But she couldn't articulate why. She scribbled aimlessly on a notepad, marshalling her thoughts.

The thought that other attorneys and friends talked about her didn't faze her; these weren't malicious rumors put forth by Edna or Mr. Bates' psychotic ex-wife. But it irritated her that _her husband_ was talked about as some kind of…object of physical _attraction_.

Then it hit her, and she almost laughed out loud at the absurdity.

She was _jealous_. And protective of her man. _**My**_ _curmudgeon._

…

 _Well. He is a silver fox._

 _And he married...me._

She felt a surge of pride.

 _I wonder if he knows about the kind of attention he attracts. Other than random women at Pedro's trying to pick him up._

She laughed under her breath, and read his note again fondly.

00000000000

Somehow Charles managed to concentrate enough during the rest of the morning. By lunchtime he felt exhausted from the effort.

 _Retirement sounds better every day._

He was waiting in line to pick up his lunch in the kitchen, his thoughts filled with Elsie, when he thought he heard his name. A nearby cubicle of secretaries were eating their lunch. They were hidden by a room divider, but could clearly be heard.

"…can't believe Mr. Carson's _married_. Ugh, it was too good to be true! The one single man left worth looking at, and now he's _taken_ -"

"Did you see her? In the fishbowl this morning? Me and Stacey walked by to get a good look at her."

"Do you think she could feel the death stares through the window?" A couple of women laughed. The first woman sighed.

"Maybe it's fitting that he ended up marrying Elsie Hughes-"

"Yeah, because she's his office manager!"

"Well that, plus because of her nickname. Years ago, when she dated Steven Russell, he used to call her the Red Fox."

"Huh. The Red Fox and the Silver Fox. I never thought of that, Linda!" The group giggled.

Charles could not believe what he was hearing. He felt indignant, appalled and embarrassed. Right in front of him in line, Prudence Shackleton raised her eyebrows, trying not to laugh. She tugged on his jacket sleeve and gestured to the kitchen. He let out a huff as soon as the door was shut.

"I can't _believe_ them, talking about Elsie and I that way!" he took the offered tray from his old friend. "Thank you. Talking about me like I was a…a piece of meat or something! And what were those names they called us?"

Prudence's eyes danced as she forked some salad onto her plate. "Really, Charles, are you telling me you didn't know half the attorneys in the county called you the Silver Fox?"

"Yes, I knew," he said, his voice gruff. "I always thought it was a joke-"

"You should take it as a compliment," she said smoothly, handing him the salad tongs. "I had heard Steven's nickname for Elsie back when they dated. I suppose it stuck."

"But…but…why talk about us that way? It's none of anyone's business!" He picked up a turkey sandwich without mayonnaise and put it on his plate. Prudence laughed, shaking her head.

"You're absolutely right. But when has that ever stopped people from talking? My dear Mr. Carson, whether you like it or not, you and your wife are the objects of interest. At least for a while," she grabbed a napkin. "Perhaps you've forgotten how many attorneys were present at your wedding. I always knew you had a softer side, but you took many of your colleagues by surprise."

They headed back to the conference room to eat. Charles searched through his memory of the wedding.

 _What did I do that was so shocking? Other than get married?_ He remembered getting emotional during the ceremony, but that seemed normal to him.

Maybe dancing with Elsie was a surprise. Not that he remembered anything of their first dance. All he could remember was the feel of her in his arms, the way she looked…

He focused on holding his tray steady, so as not to spill his food. Staff and office managers were mingling by the table of drinks. His breath caught before he could stop himself. Open-toe silver sandals with a short-sleeve crocheted blue dress, accentuated by the curve of her hips.

 _Damnit. She really is the Red Fox._

He hoped his body wouldn't embarrass him.

Elsie turned from the table with her iced tea. Her face flushed at the sight of her husband. Broad shoulders, grey suit with a light green tie. For some reason, she couldn't take her eyes off his collar, the skin above.

They stood staring for a full four seconds before both spoke.

"Would you-"

"I've-"

They laughed quietly. She picked up a bottle of water. "Would you like water, Mr. Carson? Or something else?"

"Water is perfect. Thank you, Mrs. Carson," he replied, loving the color that spread down her face. She set it gently on his tray, along with a tiny folded piece of paper.

"Well," he said awkwardly, keenly aware that they had an audience, and that he had a tray of food in his hands, "I must get back." He wished he could set the tray down and kiss her.

She repressed a shiver at the sight of his eyes flicking from hers to her lips. _Husband, perhaps it's best we're forced to be professional right now._ "Yes," she agreed. She went to walk past him. "Have a good afternoon."

"You too," he said, turning his head. She couldn't resist. She went up on her tip-toes and kissed him, sliding her hand down his jacket sleeve. He watched her go, his eyes soft. Then he shook himself from his reverie and returned to the attorneys' conference room. He ignored the sudden surge in conversation as he left the room.

He was halfway through his salad when he remembered the slip of paper. It was the Post-It he had put on her laptop at home when she was in the shower. She had written a reply.

 _A ghraidh,_

 _I miss you, too._

 _I must admit that my concentration was absent for much of the morning. Doubtless it will be elusive this afternoon as well._

 _Thoughts of the Silver Fox keep me from my work._

 _I wouldn't have it any other way._

 _Love,_

 _The Red Fox_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in this fic. Life intervened this past week. Thank you for the reviews, including from the guests! I love you all.**

 **TW for…I'm not even sure really. Heartbrokenness? No smut this chapter. They insisted on having a serious conversation instead.**

 **August 2016**

Poppy wriggled in her grandmother's arms. Putting a hand on her shoulder, she accidently pulled the older woman's white hair.

"Ouch!" Margaret Bates whispered. She reached up and grabbed Poppy's hand firmly. "Love, maybe you would be able to better see what's going on if your Nana held you." She exchanged a quick glance with Elsie, who nodded.

"Come here, petal," she whispered, mindful of the people around her and of Reverend Travis, who had just started the rite of baptism. She hoisted Poppy onto her hip and pointed. "Can you see Sebastian now?"

The little girl broke into a grin and nodded. "I want to see him," she said, heedless of her volume. "Is he okay?" she swung her head around to point at her infant brother, who was awake in Anna's arms.

"Shhh, yes," Elsie tried to keep her voice low. "He's just watching Reverend Travis right now."

She kept on whispering to Poppy as the ceremony went on, explaining what the participants were doing. Anna and John stood holding the baby; Charles and Mary were on the other side of the font, answering the questions for their godson, who waved his arms.

Elsie glanced at Joe Molesley, who stood quietly by Reverend Travis, holding the hymnal for her. She was very glad the kind-hearted man was finally going to have his day with Phyllis. _Just a few more weeks._

Margaret held up her phone, taking a video. Both women smiled when Sebastian yowled.

"She's putting water on his _head!_ " Poppy exclaimed as the pastor held her brother gently. "Why?"

"It means he belongs to God," Elsie said, hoisting her goddaughter up again. Poppy seemed satisfied with the answer and watched the rest of the ceremony with wide eyes.

After the service, the family stayed in the sanctuary. Charles was kept busy with Thomas, taking pictures as well as appearing in some of them. Elsie drifted to the back of the huge room, where Joe was stacking discarded bulletins.

"You don't have to do that," she said, picking up a few scattered on the floor. He grinned and shrugged.

"Oh, I don't mind. I just like to help out where I can."

"Are you getting excited?" she asked. "Your big day is coming soon." She couldn't help but smile at the look on his face.

"Honestly, I can't wait," he said, almost bouncing on his toes. "All the main details are done. Dad's been in heaven, planning the floral arrangements. That was one thing Phil and I were happy to leave to him."

"With good reason," Elsie laughed. "I loved the bouquet he made for me."

"It was lovely," Joe agreed. "Did you save it?"

"I did," she confessed. "The flowers were dried and I keep them in a vase at home. Of course, they're not the same as they were on our wedding day, but it's the memory that matters-"

"Elsie!" Anna called. "You're needed here! Front and center!"

"I think you're being summoned," Joe unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. Elsie grinned and hurried up the aisle.

"We wanted a picture with all of us, together," Anna explained. John held Poppy, while his mother held Sebastian. Mary, Matthew, and George grouped around them. Charles stood slightly to one side. He slid an arm around Elsie when she joined him.

"There's my lovely bride," he whispered in her ear. She blushed, wondering how he still managed to make her feel like a lovesick schoolgirl.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

They posed while Thomas snapped several shots. She went to leave when they were done, but Charles kept hold of her hand. "Not so fast," he said. "John and Anna want one of us with the children. They're our godchildren, after all."

"Right," Elsie murmured. She scooped up Poppy again. "Och, lass, you're getting too big for me to pick you up!" Beside her, Margaret handed Sebastian over to Charles.

"Just a couple more," Thomas said. "Here, Poppy! This way! Just one more smile, nice and big!" John stood slightly behind Thomas, a half-smile on his face as he gave the younger man rabbit ears. Poppy laughed. Her brother was fretting, and began to emit noise that was in total contrast to his size.

"Don't worry, Mr. Carson," Anna called, bouncing on her toes next to Thomas. "He's just hungry, I need to feed him." Charles quickly extended his pinky finger, which Sebastian latched onto. For a few seconds, the sanctuary was fairly quiet.

Elsie's heart twinged. She ignored it as their picture was taken. After Thomas said they were done, they all trooped into the reception hall for lunch.

An hour later, Elsie stacked the dirty plates in the kitchen, thanking the people who had made them their meal. Charles sat at their table talking to Mary, his jacket off. Poppy was looking at a book with her father, while Margaret sat next to them. Matthew and Thomas had taken George outside to play catch. Elsie sank into a chair next to Anna.

"Would you like to hold him? He's nearly asleep, and I'd like to finish my lunch. If you don't want to hold him, I can put him in his car-seat," Anna tucked a bright strand of hair behind her ear.

"Of course I want to hold him! I don't get the chance very often when his godfather is around," Elsie took Sebastian from his mother, smiling at his contended sigh. "It's a miracle – once he's fed and dry, there's nothing more he likes than sleep."

"I wish he'd let _me_ sleep more," Anna said, digging into the rest of her casserole. "I know things get better after a certain point, but he keeps growing! Which means he eats. All. The. Time," She shook her head, stabbing a noodle with her fork.

"Wasn't Poppy like that?" Elsie hummed under her breath. She ran her finger lightly over Sebastian's forehead.

"For a little while, but she went through growth spurts with breaks in between," Anna said. Sighing, she swallowed another bite. "I'm just worried that after I return to work next week, the transition is going to be horrible. Poppy has been wonderful, but she has had her moments when John and I know she just wants attention."

"Try not to worry," Elsie advised gently. "You can't control certain things, least of all children. And," her eyes twinkled, "If you're having a rough day, and you need to leave early, I'm certain the office manager will understand."

"Thanks," Anna managed a wan smile. "But I don't want to be a burden, or take advantage-"

"Stop," Elsie said firmly. "You would never be a burden, and you are the last person to take advantage of my good will. Both Beryl and Phyllis have already said they're willing to help you out if you need it. We all know this part of your life won't last forever." She reached out and touched the younger woman's shoulder.

"Thank you," Anna's eyes shimmered. She took a shaky breath and laughed quietly. "I know you and Mary don't always see eye to eye, but she said almost the exact same thing you did."

Elsie laughed. "Well, I always knew we agreed on _something_. Other than our mutual fondness for Mr. Carson, of course," she smiled across the room at her husband. He sensed her looking, and smiled back, waving his fingers.

00000000000

"It's been something of a rough transition, more difficult than I thought it would be," Mary sighed, tapping the table. "I suppose I got used to doing things on my own while Matthew was away. And George has been extra clingy as well. He doesn't like for his father to leave his sight. He nearly had a meltdown last week when we dropped him off at daycare!"

Charles turned back from waving at Elsie. "Once some time has gone by, he'll settle down. I expect he's worried Matthew will leave again. Children don't always understand about such things."

"I'm sure," Mary agreed. "If that were the only issue, I'd be coping better. But Matthew's been driving _me_ bananas as well. Every little thing, he wants to do _for_ me, like he doesn't think I'm capable – 'I'll go to the store, darling, let me handle it', 'Why didn't you tell me about the engine light in the car? You shouldn't have to bother with it', and on and on." She huffed out a frustrated sigh.

"I think," Charles said carefully, knowing his goddaughter's unpredictable temper, "He doesn't want you to feel as though you _have_ to do everything. It isn't that he thinks you're incapable of running things. Quite the contrary, he told me you were brilliant while he was serving overseas." He scratched his head. "It's just now that he's home again, he wants to share the burden with you."

Mary rested her hand against her cheek. "I know you're probably right…but I've been awful to him for the last two weeks." She raised an eyebrow. "It would feel rather degrading to have to crawl back to him and admit I was wrong."

Smiling, Charles played with his ring. "Better to admit you're wrong now than continue on and have to hear him _say_ you've been wrong. The sooner you apologize and get it over with, the sooner things will become much more pleasant between the two of you."

An impish gleam appeared in her eyes. "I'm sure you wouldn't know that from personal experience, Carson."

"I don't have the slightest idea what you mean," he teased. "Really, it's much better when you and your partner in life are in agreement."

"That's what Anna said, or something near enough to it," she said. "But she and John _have_ to be in agreement. They have a small child and an infant! If they were in the middle of a war (not that they've ever argued like Matthew and I), everything would fall to pieces."

"All the more reason for you and Matthew to get on the same side again," Charles said. "Soon enough, you'll have a second child, and you'll need to work together-what?" A faint blush appeared on Mary's face. She looked down at the table.

"Oh God," he said quietly, leaning forward, "Mary, you're not-are you _pregnant_?"

She laughed, her pale face flushed. "Of all people to figure it out first, I would have guessed Mama, not you. I only just found out last week. Yes," she nodded. "We've told no one yet, not Papa or Isobel. Certainly not Granny. I think both Tom and Edith are suspicious, but neither of them have said anything."

His heart skipped and he put his hand on hers. "Congratulations! I'm delighted for you! What did Matthew say?"

She wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye. "Well, once he got over the shock, he was thrilled. He said he doesn't care what the baby is, but I know he wants a daughter."

"Don't you?"

Shrugging, she shook her head. "I don't think so. I think George would love a brother. And I'm not sure how I would react to another girl in the family."

Charles suppressed a snort. "Mary, Mary, quite contrary…I think you would enjoy a daughter."

"We'll see," she said, giving him a sideways grin.

00000000000

Pepper nuzzled his leg as he sat up against the headboard. "Hullo, sweetheart, do you want to climb on Daddy's lap?" He scooped her onto his lap, setting his book on the small dresser. "There's my sweet girl." He scratched her behind her ears.

"Were you really that surprised?" Elsie called from the bathroom. He could see her in the reflection of the mirror, brushing her hair. "About Mary? It's not to me, at least."

"Not that much," he admitted. "Just about the speed of it. Matthew's only been back since June."

She smirked and tapped her toothbrush against the sink. "It only takes one time."

"I know _that_ ," he said, feeling his face grow warm. "But I know it took them a while to have George. She hasn't even been to the doctor yet to get an estimate on the due date." He stroked Pepper's back slowly.

"Well," she said, her voice garbled as she brushed her teeth, "Once she does have a due date, everyone will know. We all can count backwards nine months." She spat out toothpaste and rinsed with water. "It may be they had more fun the night of Matthew's homecoming party than they let on."

He groaned aloud. "Could you _please_ not speculate about it? She's my goddaughter, for heavens' sake!"

Laughing, Elsie exited the bathroom and slid onto the bed. "Don't tell me you _didn't_ notice them that night, their hands all over each other. When did you become so prudish? I thought marriage had changed you," her eyes twinkled. She gestured to Pepper, and their puppy left Charles's lap and went to her for a cuddle.

"It did!" he insisted. "But I don't like to think of Mary that way, even though she and Matthew are married. And for that matter, that night at Pedro's my attention was almost entirely occupied by a ravishing beauty sitting at the bar."

"Oh really, Mr. Carson?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Who was that?"

"Some woman with a curmudgeon of a husband," he replied, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek.

"Hmph," she murmured, reaching up and brushing her fingers on the side of his face. Kissing her again, he grinned when Pepper growled.

"Poor baby," he petted her, chuckling. "It's really _Mummy's_ fault. First, for insisting we bring your bed in here, and second for tempting Daddy to kiss her again!"

"Oh, I see," Elsie rolled her eyes. "Blame me because she's jealous!" She playfully pushed his face away.

He laughed, clapping his hands so Pepper returned to him. "You know it's your fault. I knew you would cave in first, having her in here!"

"You'll never let me forget it, will you?" She shook her head, smiling.

Grabbing his book again, he fiddled with his glasses. "Probably not. If it makes you feel better, I would have brought her in here if you hadn't insisted on it. You were just ahead of me by a week or so." Pepper rubbed against his belly making him laugh again. "Careful, love, I'm ticklish. Els, do you mind if I read awhile longer? I'd like to finish the chapter."

"Go ahead," she replied. "I'm not tired yet." She put on her own glasses.

They spent a companionable silence for another half an hour. He, absorbed in his biography of Field Marshal Montgomery; she, intent first on a spreadsheet on her laptop, then on her phone. After he finished reading, he played with Pepper, grabbing her front paws and pretending to help her clap.

"Oh!" Elsie gasped suddenly, laughing. He jumped. "Thomas posted pictures on Facebook. Would you like to see?" She scooted over, giving him her phone.

"Go to your bed," he told the dog gently. Pepper leaped off of the big bed and to the corner where her bed was nestled.

"Not bad," he commented drily. He scrolled through the pictures while Elsie got up to turn off the overhead light. "Not bad at all." He lingered on one picture in particular, the one of him and Elsie with Poppy and Sebastian.

When Elsie returned to bed, he had laid down on his side facing away from her. She picked up her phone and plugged it in.

"Tired already?" she teased. She touched his shoulder, running her hand down his arm. She was surprised and a little hurt when he rolled over more, out of her reach. "What is it, Charles?"

"Just tired," he mumbled. He didn't want to upset her. _I'm being silly._

"Oh," she said, laying down to face his back. She knew quite well something was bothering him. _I hope he tells me without me having to ask._

There was silence for a few minutes while she debated over whether she should switch off the lamp or to give in and ask him directly. From his breathing, she knew he wasn't asleep yet.

He wondered if he should tell her what was on his mind. _The last thing I want is for her to feel like it's her fault. At any rate, I shouldn't be thinking about this. It won't change anything._

His chest felt tight, and he thought he might cry. That more than anything else convinced him to try to talk. Even if he wasn't sure what to say.

As well as being his wife, she was his best friend. He could tell her anything. He cleared his throat, and turned over onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

"You said once," he began, "that you weren't used to feeling broken." He swallowed. "Neither am I."

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling as if the moment had just happened. _The first time we shared a drink at Pedro's. Martin had just left me…_

She wrapped her arms around herself. "What…what makes you say that?"

He shifted position, reaching up to pull on his silver hair. "I know we've talked about not having regrets, being happy with what we have." He turned to look at her, a real smile on his face. She gave him an uncertain smile back. "And I _am_ happy. Truly." His eyes were sad. "But sometimes I do have regrets. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" she whispered, reaching for his hand. He took it, turning onto his side. Sighing, he closed his eyes.

"For having regrets. Because I never want to hurt you, or to make you feel I'm unhappy with our life now."

"Charles…" she squeezed his hand, running her finger over his ring. "It's perfectly normal to have regrets. You would hardly be human if you were content with every decision you've ever made."

"I know." He slid his fingers through hers, drawing strength from her grip. Turning his face slightly into the pillow, his breath stuttered. "Looking at the picture of us with the children made me think about what might have been. I know it's wrong, but I couldn't help it."

Her heart sank, but she wasn't entirely surprised. "'What might have been'?"

"If I had had more courage, and thought less about work when I was younger," he said softly. "If I had seen the gift that was you years ago…maybe our lives would be different."

"You said at our wedding that you were a different man when we met," she reminded him, repressing her own tears. "Love, you shouldn't do this to yourself. What was meant to be is what happened."

He continued on, afraid that if he didn't, he would never say what he meant. "It's not just that…I can't help but wonder if…what would it have been like if we married sooner. We might have had children." He cursed himself at the look on his face. "I know…it's impossible. You see?" he asked, pleadingly. "This is why I didn't want to tell you, I've hurt you-"

"No," she said, hating when her voice broke. "You haven't, I promise. It's just…" she bit her lip. Suddenly, she turned over, unable to look at him. "I saw you earlier with Sebastian, how you comforted him," she whispered, feeling a tear slide down her nose. She sniffed. "And that moment, I wished you had found someone earlier, and had children. You would have been a good father."

"Elsie," he said, touching her shoulder. He slid over and wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. "But that's the point. There's no one I ever wanted to have children with. Except you." His body shuddered, and he left out a sob before controlling himself again. He kissed the top of her head.

Tears flowed down her face. "I didn't want children for most of my life," she whispered. "I was content with the way things were. When Martin broke off our relationship years ago, it hurt mostly because he made me feel inadequate."

"You're not," he said, rubbing her back.

"I know," she wiped her face even as more tears fell. "And neither are you." She turned around in his arms, resting her head against his chest. "I know it would have been impossible anyway, but…when I realized I loved you, it was the first time I wanted children. And I was sorry I couldn't give you that. Our _own_ children." She tried to dry her face on the sheet. "You were right. We…I shouldn't have regrets either. I _am_ happy with our life now, happier than I ever imagined I would be," she tried to smile. "It doesn't make sense to grieve something that we never had."

He ran a finger through her hair. "I think it's right that we grieve, even if we only grieve the loss of a dream. It's still a loss." He touched her forehead lightly with his own, his voice wobbling. "I heard someone say once that 'grief is the price we pay for love'."*

Breaking down, he held her close as they cried together.

Elsie was unaware of much beyond Charles's tears. She stroked his face, trying to comfort him. He rubbed at the lines streaking her face and embraced her tightly, his heart breaking at her sadness.

After several minutes, they were aware of another sound in the room. Pepper whimpered low, a soft cry as if she was weeping along with them.

"Oh lass," Elsie said, sitting up, her eyes red. She gestured to her. "Come here." Pepper scampered around the bed, and Charles scooped her up, setting her between them.

"Well," Charles whispered, brushing the puppy's furry head with a kiss, "Thank God we have you." Elsie gave a watery laugh and turned out the lamp.

"That we do," she agreed quietly, her hand on Pepper, with Charles's over hers. The three of them fell asleep soon after.

They never spoke of it openly again. Sometimes they exchanged knowing glances, or simply held hands when either felt the familiar pain. They took great solace in their godchildren, as well as the other children who populated their lives. Their home was a haven for those whom Elsie lovingly referred to as their 'spirit-children'.

And Pepper, of course. She brought them joy for many years.

 **A/N: I'm soooooorry. The quote is from Queen Elizabeth II, spoken after 9/11.**

 **You will never convince me dogs (and other animals) don't know when their humans are sad.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Baxley wedding! Chelsie naughtiness! There is a reason this fic is M, mmmkay?**

 **Did I mention I don't own Downton Abbey? Just a reminder.**

 ***What Robert says is a line stolen from the film** _ **Chariots of Fire**_ **, it's not mine either.**

 **Joe and Phyllis's wedding song is "I Choose You", by Sara Bareilles. I wrote a Chelsie canon one-shot about six months ago based on this song, but thought it would fit Baxley too.**

 **I love you all! Chelsie on!**

 **00000000**

 **Early September 2016**

An azure sky gleamed through the windows. Cora, with Elsie's help, spread out Phyllis's lace train to its full length.

"And now, your veil," Thomas said softly. He pulled it gently over the bride's face. "Remember, no crying. Let Mr. Molesley do that."

Phyllis laughed. "I'm not sure I'm going to make it through the day without a few tears myself. I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

The door opened into the small room. "May I come in?" Charles's voice boomed from the hallway.

"Yes, please, come in," Phil called. The managing partner stepped in quickly. His secretary blushed at his dumbfounded expression. "Will I do, Mr. Carson?"

Thomas beamed while Cora shook her head. "Oh, don't mind me, I'm such a sap!" she said. Smiling, she reached for a tissue. Elsie felt her own tears shimmering in her eyes.

Charles gave Phyllis a fond kiss on the cheek. "You look beautiful, Phyllis," he held her outstretched hands. "And as much as Mr. Barrow would love to take all the credit, I can't give it to him. He had a wondrous canvas to work with."

"I do _not_ want all the credit," Thomas huffed, pretending to be insulted. He handed Phyllis her bouquet from her almost father-in-law. "She's a right vision! I hardly had to do anything." Phyllis's face reddened at the additional praise. "Perfect," Thomas squeezed her arm. "Is the blushing bride ready? It's after three. We don't want to worry poor Joseph."

"I'm ready," Phil said steadily, making Elsie's heart swell. She grabbed her purse and rummaged for a spare tissue. Charles raised an eyebrow at her, and she half-laughed, rolling her eyes at him. _He'll cry within the first five minutes._

Cora dashed for the door. "I'll let them know you're on your way," she said.

Thomas held Phyllis's arm as they walked down the path towards the gazebo. Charles and Elsie were right behind them, careful to keep a safe distance from the wedding dress. The day was gorgeous, the sun glinting off of Turtle Pond. They crossed the wooden bridge. Charles could just see the intimate group waiting for them through the trees, with John standing next to Joe.

The groom broke into the widest smile Charles had ever seen when the bride came into view. After Elsie quickly re-checked Phil's train, the Carsons slipped into the row where Anna had saved them seats.

Thomas preceded the bride down the aisle as the pianist played "Deep Blue". It was one of the few extravagances the couple had asked for – a real piano, outside. Thanks to Thomas and Jimmy's contacts, they got their wish. When Phyllis made her way to the front of the gazebo, several people in attendance gasped aloud, including Beryl. Elsie didn't blame her.

The bride was stunning.

Her short-sleeved white dress was covered in lace detail, with a scalloped-edge neckline. She had left her dark hair down. It tumbled down her back, shimmering in the late summer sun.

The ceremony, conducted by Reverend Travis, was fairly short. Along with the traditional marriage vows, John read aloud the famous passage from 1st Corinthians: "Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude…Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends…"

"What?" Charles whispered at his wife's smirk during the reading. He brushed at the tears on his face. "I'm not ashamed of my feelings, Mrs. Carson," he rumbled, his breath warm on her ear.

It was during Joe's heartfelt reading of Margaret Atwood's "Variation on the Word Sleep" that he put his hand on his wife's. Elsie's eyes were soft, a tear dangling at one corner.

"…I would like to give you the silver

branch, the small white flower, the one

word that will protect you

from the grief at the center

of your dream, from the grief

at the center. I would like to follow

you up the long stairway

again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully, a flame

in two cupped hands

to where your body lies

beside me, and you enter

it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

& that necessary."

By the time he finished, there was not a single dry eye among the witnesses.

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"What a lovely day. Just wonderful," Matthew commented, sipping his champagne. He tipped his head toward the bridge. The bride and groom were having pictures taken in the late afternoon sun. Joe evidently said something funny, because his wife threw her head back and laughed in his arms. The newlyweds giggled together for a few moments before he leaned forward and gave her a tender kiss. The crowd cheered and whistled. Charles clinked his glass against Elsie's.

"Molesley is smitten, wouldn't you say?" he grinned.

"Smitten?" Robert raised his eyebrows. "He's decapitated."*

"Can you blame him?" Cora laughed. Robert shook his head, putting an arm around his wife.

"Not at all," Mary said. "Phyllis looks like a dream."

Elsie sipped her bubbly liquid. "For once, I agree with you." Mary smiled warmly and raised her glass of water.

They made their way to the pavilion where the reception was held. The evening was just warm enough without being stifling. Elsie gasped when she and Charles sat down at their table, next to Beryl and Bill.

"Joe's father has outdone himself!" They all admired the cascading flowers from the ceiling, interspersed with soft white fairy lights.

"He has a gift," Bill said, looking up in awe. "He's done lots of weddings, but I think he was saving something extra-special for his son's wedding."

"As he should," Beryl agreed, dabbing her eyes. When Bill rubbed her shoulder, she laughed. "Oh, go on then, laugh at me! I've cried all afternoon! I never would have thought Joe Molesley would have reduced me to tears like that!"

Anna laughed on her other side. "There's nothing wrong with tears of happiness at a wedding." She squeezed John's hand. "Joe and Phyllis deserve all the happiness in the world." Her husband kissed her on the cheek.

"That they do," he leaned back in his chair, his tie askew and the top button undone on his shirt. "I've known Joe for a long time – ever since we worked together at the warehouse." He smiled rather cheekily. "I have to say, he's always had some hidden talents, but until today, I wasn't aware that poetry reading was one of them."

There was a murmur of agreement before Beryl laughed again. "So he didn't read poetry aloud when you were young men? What a surprise!"

"When did you work at the warehouse? Was that before you went to law school?" Elsie asked, leaning on her elbow. John nodded.

"Before, and during. Joe was fantastic. There were times I'd have a brief to write, or I'd be going on a couple of hours of sleep because I'd been studying for a final. He covered for me, always encouraged me to not give up. He was there for me when I really needed a friend." He circled his finger on the fabric-covered table. "It sometimes doesn't seem fair that now I'm a partner at the firm. I wouldn't be there if it hadn't been for him."

"Talking about me, John?" Joe tapped him on the shoulder, smiling broadly. John looked up.

"Of course, you're the subject of universal praise," he said, as Jimmy and Thomas slipped into their seats.

"Why wouldn't he be?" Bill Molesley patted his son's back, walking up to the table. "He's a decent fellow, never harmed a soul. And now he's got a lovely wife! Of course, he always had the best father around," he joked. Everyone laughed, complimenting him on the flowers. He was just about to sit down when he looked around. "Where's the bride? Where's my daughter?"

Phyllis appeared only moments later after greeting the last of their guests. "I'm right here, Dad. Let's sit down so everyone can eat. I wouldn't want to make you all wait," her eyes sparkled. She exchanged a sweet kiss with Joe after they sat down.

Charles's hand found Elsie's under the table, their fingers intertwined.

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Dinner was over, the cake was cut and distributed to all who wanted some, and, as Thomas said, it was _really_ time to party. The sun had set, leaving an inky-blue sky behind, scattered with stars.

Phyllis's best man spun Elsie in a circle, before she found his place taken by Tom Branson. "I had to take my chance," the shorter man called over the music. "Since your husband is dancing with the bride now, I thought why not? Thomas doesn't mind much, he wanted to dance with Anna before they had to leave."

"I don't mind," Elsie giggled, her hand on his shoulder. "It's good for Charles to see me dancing with a handsome man. Now that I think of it," a wicked gleam appeared in her eye, "maybe it's time to do a repeat of my reception. Where's Jack? We need to request 'Marvin Gaye'-"

"Elsie Carson, you _tease_ ," Tom chortled, almost falling over laughing. "The first time I heard your nickname I thought it was a misnomer. But Sybil thought The Red Fox suited you perfectly!"

"Did she? That little scamp!" Elsie shook her head fondly. They whirled around the dance floor for the next few minutes. At one point, she turned in Tom's arms to eye Charles, going the other way with Phyllis. He looked over the bride's shoulder at her with such a heated gaze she stumbled. Fortunately, Tom caught her before she fell.

Charles chuckled under his breath at her reaction. It was past time for some payback, he reflected. Other than the bride of course, his wife was easily the most striking woman present. He'd had a devil of a time keeping his hands to himself during dinner. He envied Tom and every other man who had danced with her that evening. They had danced together once, but only briefly.

He'd have to do something about that.

The music came to an end, and everyone clapped. "All right, ladies and gentlemen," Jack Ross said from the corner. "If I may have your attention please. It is now time for the bride and groom's first dance together."

Charles relinquished Phyllis to Joe with a smile. He took a deep breath, thinking he would sit down for a few minutes.

"They have a request of their guests," Jack continued. "They would like for all of the married couples to join them on the dance floor."

Behind Charles, Anna pulled John to his feet. Robert and Cora set their glasses down and walked onto the floor. Matthew and Mary had already been dancing, and stayed where they were. Jimmy took Thomas's hand next to one of light-covered pillars in the center of the pavilion. Bill and Beryl Mason, Gwen and her husband Brandon…

"Are you looking for me?" Her low, seductive timbre, with its distinctive lilt, reached his ears behind him. He shivered. _What her voice does to me…it isn't fair._

He took her hand in his, putting the other on her waist. "I will always find you," he whispered. He pulled her closer, pleased when she gasped. He raised her hand to his lips as the song began.

There was more of a beat than he normally would have liked, but listening to the words, he thought the song fit he and Elsie as much as Phyllis and Joe. The way his wife swayed in his arms, her eyes never leaving his, showed she felt the same.

 _Tell the world that we finally got it all right_

 _I choose you_

 _I will become yours, and you will become mine_

 _I choose you_

 _I choose you_

Joe and Phyllis danced by them. The newlywed couple's heads touched, and they were lost in each other.

Neither Elsie nor Charles noticed.

Her chest rose and fell, making her cleavage visible beneath her wine-colored dress. He forced himself to concentrate on dancing, the lights, anything but the tortuous desire to taste her. He slid his hand from her waist to her back. Thinking it would help, he immediately knew he'd made a mistake when she came closer and brushed against him. A guttural moan came out of his mouth.

It was like a spark lighting a fire.

She wanted to kiss him, but didn't trust herself. It was one thing to joke about with Tom Branson. But in the privacy of their home, she tended to lose all control. When he moaned aloud, she let out a whimper, feeling heat pool between her legs. She was relieved when he yanked her into the shadow of a pillar.

He pressed his open, hot mouth to hers. The taste of her was electrifying. One kiss, two, more. Then his lips marked the soft skin of her neck. She made a sound between a hum and a whimper, her back arching against the pillar. Her fingers dug into the back of his neck. He returned to her mouth, nipping her lip.

He would have given almost anything to be younger, to lift her into his arms, wrap her legs around his waist and take her right there. _Charlie, you dirty man._

She seemed to have the same idea, sliding her hands down his back to cup his bottom, thrusting herself against his groin.

"Minx," he gasped, breaking their kiss. His trousers were painfully tight. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her lips swollen. They were suddenly aware of applause. She went around him out of the shadows while he attempted to calm down.

Elsie clapped, watching the bridal couple acknowledge their guests. She felt disoriented. Hoping no one would notice her flushed skin or puffy lips, she turned slightly to check on her husband.

He stood with his back half to the crowd, and half turned towards the pillar. She touched his hand.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't think. I should not have gone so far, I should have thought about you-"

"Elsie," he interrupted, his eyes dark. He laughed under his breath. "You _did_ think about me, it-that-" he clapped a hand to his head. "I can't even _think_ right now." His voice dropped. "Let's go home. Now," he growled. "I can't-you are- _damnit_ ," he said, exasperated. He reached for her hand. She took his, coming closer. He murmured into her hair. "God, I _want_ you."

If she felt warm before, it was nothing compared to the way he looked at her then. A delicious sense of anticipation made her body feel like she was full of champagne, tingling all over.

"Let's go," she said, running her thumb over the back of his hand.

They said a quick goodbye to Phyllis and Joe (trying not to act like they were in a hurry), and to several more of their friends. Beryl gave Elsie a saucy wink, which Charles either didn't see, or chose to ignore.

Stumbling on the wooden bridge across the pond, he swore softly, still holding his wife's hand.

"Charles, are you _drunk_?" she asked, slightly worried. He seemed more off-kilter than normal.

"Yes," he said clearly as they got to their car. He tossed her the keys. "I'm drunk on champagne, and happiness, and starlight, and _you_."

As she started the car, he buckled his seatbelt, then reached over and stroked her thigh, his fingers coming tantalizingly close to her center. She hissed, and swiped at him.

"Damnit! Not _now_ , I have to drive!"

"Hurry then," he said lazily, running his big hand slowly down to her knee, then back up again.

He kept touching her. All the way home.

She was extremely happy they only lived ten minutes away.

They made it in six.

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Halfway up the sidewalk to the front door, she lost a shoe. It didn't matter, as she had lost the other one in the driveway. His suit jacket was unceremoniously dropped onto a boxwood bush, and his tie was in the car.

Even with the outside light on, she struggled getting the key into the lock.

Of course, his hands roaming her backside and his lips on her neck probably had more to do with it.

" _Shit_ ," she swore, breathing hard. "When we buy a house, we're getting one where the garage has an inside door. _Oh_ ," she exhaled, leaning back against him as he massaged her breasts. Somehow the key fitted into the doorknob, and they almost fell into the front hallway.

Even then, he didn't stop touching her. After they regained their balance, he unzipped her dress, leaving a trail of slow kisses where skin showed. She stepped out of the open garment and threw it onto the recliner. He untied his shoes, balancing himself on one foot, then the other. She kept hold of his hand while he finished removing his socks.

This being done, he pulled her flush against him, her clad in nothing but her undergarments and slip. She undid his buttons and belt – at least, until he lavished the swell of her breasts. Panting, her knees gave out. She swayed against him.

He smiled, the movement of his mouth evident against the hollow of her throat. "I want to be close to you," he whispered, his warm hands caressing the back of her legs, sliding down her slip. "I want us to be as close as two people can be." _For as long as my body holds up,_ _for the time that remains to us on earth._ Dipping his head, he tongued the space between her breasts.

"Oh _God_ ," she moaned, pulling his hair. Her legs were as weak as water.

It was then she knew they weren't going to make it to the bedroom.

She sat heavily on the couch, laughing when he kicked his trousers off like a petulant boy. His shirt went fluttering to the floor. Giving her a wicked grin, he removed his shorts.

The only thing he still had on was his wedding ring.

Her mouth went dry at the sight of his naked form. _He doesn't think so, but he is beautiful. And he is mine._

"Come here," she whispered, her hand outstretched. He took it, climbing onto the couch in the same motion.

On top of her.

She reveled in his scent, the heat radiating from his body. She touched his face as they kissed deeply, his hot hardness against her thigh. He sat up, kneeling, pulling her with him. His soft lips and mouth danced a pattern across her collarbone while his hands unhooked her bra. She tossed it aside, then lay back down, lifting her hips so he could pull off her underwear.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, taking her nipple into his mouth. "So beautiful, my love."

She cried out, her hands drifting down his sides to find his manhood. He gasped at her touch, but continued cherishing her breasts, marking her skin. Her body.

She found a rhythm, basking in his erratic breaths. Keeping a firm hold, she loved his hot, smooth skin, the hair at the base of his shaft. Her fingers worked their way to his tip.

Shaking, he beat her there by parting her legs, his hands caressing her center. She let go of him with a surprised yell. Burying her fingers in his hair, she rocked against him. He pushed, pressed her secret place, lightly teasing the tiny gift inside.

She was on fire from his touch.

A moment later he sheathed himself inside her.

He pulled out, then thrust deep within her. His leg brushed the back of the couch. Turning his hips slightly, he thrust again. The resistance against her swollen nub caused her to scream aloud.

He came with a roar. Her scent was everywhere, around him, inside him. Her voice echoed wordless cries; her body moved with his, _was_ his, oh _God, can we stay like this, just like this, her hair spread out on the pillow, her arms above her head, oh God, her body around mine, her gasps and pants and moans driving me on, yes my love, yes, my sweet, yes, yes, come for me, my wife, my love, yes,_ _yes_ _, oh my heavenly God, what did I ever do to deserve you, yes, yes, yes, yes,_ _harder_ _, oh God, she sings in Gaelic,_ _yes, yes_ _, who IS this woman, yes, oh God, please let my body hold on, yes, my GOD, she's coming AGAIN, yes, YES, my love, my wife, my Elsie-_

The pleasure was so intense it was almost pain. Twice she came in his arms, and still he moved inside her. She was aware she laughed at one instance, before it was cut off when he dropped his head lower, his hair brushing her shoulder, and she shattered once more. His voice rumbled above her, but she could not comprehend what he was saying in words.

 _I love you._

 _I love you, my husband, my lover, my curmudgeon, my beautiful man._

She laughed, then cried, then laughed again. Both at the same time. Her fingernails digging into his shoulder as he cried out, she came undone in a white blaze of joy.

He continued pounding into her, marveling at his body's endurance ( _Thank you, God_ ) and her stamina. When it did end, he gently removed himself from her, kissing her softly.

Then he saw her expression.

"Are you all right, love?" he whispered, his face hovering above hers. He kissed her again, which she returned.

She was shaking, crying, even as a laugh bubbled on her lips. She reached up, felt the sweat on his face. She tried to move.

"Shhh," he said, even though she hadn't said anything. "I'll get up. Don't get up too quickly. Just sit up if you want, and wait a minute. I'll be right back."

He managed to untangle his limbs from hers and moved, falling off of the couch. His feet prickled horribly, and his legs felt as though they could not hold him up. He shuffled into the kitchen, hanging onto the counter, and pulled out two glasses and the Brita from the fridge. He leaned against the cold metal as his equilibrium returned.

 _Wow. That was…wow. Beyond incredible._

 _I'm going to pay for that later._

He didn't care.

He carried the water glasses back into the living room, where Elsie had sat up on the couch. He set the water down on the coffee table and glanced at his wife. She still looked…far away.

 _Water. Yes._

Her throat was horribly dry. She took a few small sips, then a longer drink. She began to feel a bit more aware, for lack of a better word. If only the room would come into a bit more focus. He sat down next to her.

 _Good Lord. He literally pleasured me until I couldn't see straight._

She laughed, her shoulders shaking. Her stomach muscles clenched, as did several other muscles, but they were minor irritants at the moment.

He sipped his water, looked at her with a confused expression. "What's so funny?"

She put a hand on the back of his neck and drew him in for a kiss. "Life, Charles. Just life," She set her empty glass on the table and lay down on her side. "I love you," she mumbled. She was exhausted.

 _I don't want to think about how sore I'll be tomorrow._

 _Oh well._

He rubbed her foot and saw her shiver. "I love you," he said, before getting up and getting a blanket out of the linen closet. He laid it on her. She wrapped it around herself, murmuring thanks, and closed her eyes.

"Elsie?"

"Mmmm?"

"Do you want to sleep out here?" He squinted at the clock. "We might as well, it's almost one now."

 _Holy shit. We left the wedding at half-past ten._

He felt ridiculously proud of himself. "Els?"

"Mmm-hmmm?"

"Sleep out here?"

"Uh-huh," she murmured. "Oh," her eyes fluttered open. "Could you go check on Pepper?"

"Be right back." He padded down the hallway and cracked open the door into their bedroom. Despite the noise, somehow their puppy was fast asleep. On their bed.

He smirked.

 _She gets the bed, we get the couch._

He tip-toed back to the living room, switching off the main light. "She's fine. Sound asleep. Somehow," he whispered as Elsie moved to let him lay down next to her. He covered them both with the blanket, yawning hugely.

"At least now we know she'll sleep through sex," Elsie giggled sleepily.

"Good to know," he said before sleep overcame them both.

Early the next afternoon, Charles found a note taped to their front door from their next-door neighbor, Pete Beasley.

 _I found your coat laying on our boxwood bush. Sharon sent it to the cleaners for you._

 _We're glad you and Elsie had a good time last night._

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	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm sorry about the delay with this fic. I had several ideas, but wanted to incorporate Christmas into this somehow, without destroying the timeline. Flashback ensues…**

 **I realized I never actually described Chelsie getting engaged in "Managing Love".**

 **I hope you enjoy this! Merry Christmas to all, enjoy your friends and family.**

 **Early November 2016**

The sound of laughter rang from the kitchen when Charles came in. He set the umbrella in the stand quickly so as not to drip water onto the floor. Pepper ambled into the hallway and he picked her up, giving her a cuddle. The air was heavy with the scent of cinnamon and sugar.

"What have we here?" He asked, coming into the warm room. He exaggerated his tone only slightly. The two women looked up, bent over the floured dough on the table. Pepper jumped from his arms and plopped under the table. He suspected she'd been there all morning.

"Hi, Charlie!" Becky said brightly. "We're making cookies!"

"That's wonderful!" he said. "May _I_ have one? They smell delicious."

"Nuh uh….." Becky shook her head. "First, kiss."

Charles shook his head, smiling. "Oh, all right." Every time he saw Becky, it was the same ritual. He leaned over and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek. He rubbed her face lightly with his thumb. "You've got flour on your face, missy." Reaching over her shoulder, he picked up a warm, frosted cookie. "I love fresh cookies-"

"No COOKIE!" Becky shouted, insisting, grabbing his wrist. "KISS ESSIE FIRST!"

He reluctantly let go of the cookie and stood up, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I _forgot!_ Thank you for reminding me!"

Elsie laughed, leaning against a chair. He pulled her to him by her shoulders and kissed her gently. "Someone else has flour on her face," he murmured. His wife blushed and wiped her hands on her apron. The sight of her rattled made him kiss her again, lingering on her lips. "Mmm, and _you've_ had a few cookies as well."

"Well, of course," she said, turning a bit quickly to roll the dough. "They _are_ good, Becky is quite the baker!"

Charles put a hand on Becky's shoulder. "Of course! I would never forget _that_. May I have my cookie now?" he asked the younger woman, who hummed as she pressed shapes into the dough. " _Please?_ "

"O _kay_ , yeah," she sighed.

He picked up the one he'd dropped and ate it. "Oh, this is marvelous! Thank you!" He brushed the crumbs off of his hands. Glancing at the many racks cooling on the counter, he raised his eyebrows. "Christmas trees? Gingerbread men? It's too early to make Christmas cookies."

"No, it's not," Elsie argued, grabbing a towel and opening the oven. She rolled her eyes. "Halloween is over-"

"And Thanksgiving is weeks away," he reminded her, groaning. "It's bad enough the stores start setting out holiday things in _September_ , but my own _wife_ -"

"Loves Christmas, as does Becky," Elsie said brightly. "When she woke up this morning, I asked her what she wanted to do, and she said bake. So that's what we did." She set the hot tray gingerly on an empty rack. " _All_ of your girls have enjoyed it today. And Becky's been making other shapes as well. We have over a dozen hearts in the box over there."

"Very well," he half-grumbled, "But you know how I like to enjoy the seasons as they come, and not skip ahead to the next one."

"I _do_ know," she kissed him on the cheek, her eyes twinkling. "Now, are you going to help us, or are you going to be an old curmudgeon?"

Becky giggled.

Later that afternoon, before they took her back home, Charles took a selfie with the three of them in their aprons.

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"It was a good day," he said, drying the last baking sheet. He put it away. Elsie sighed from the couch, sipping her wine.

"A _very_ good day," she agreed. "I'm glad you were home for the afternoon. Becky was disappointed at breakfast when you weren't there. I think," she mused, "she likes you better than me."

"Never," he joined her. "I'm still a novelty."

"I was surprised you got home before lunch. I thought you and Alfred would work until three at least."

He put an arm around her. "I have a confession to make."

"Oh?" she handed him her glass, and he sipped the Pinot Noir.

"I told him and Matthew I had to leave early. That my sister had stayed overnight, and I wanted to spend some time with her before she had to go home."

"Charles Carson," she said, her eyebrows raised, "are you telling me you left associates working on trial prep, on a Saturday no less? You're losing your work ethic. For shame," the barb of the comment was dissipated by her smile.

"I think of it as I gained a family, and they are more important," he replied.

She squeezed his arm, drawing his face down to hers. "I love you," she whispered. For several minutes, there was no conversation between them.

"Oh," he broke away from her lips, "before I forget, I wanted to tell you. Ironically, your insistence on beginning holiday celebrations early reminded me." The corner of his mouth curved into a grin. "I bought one of Becky's Christmas presents. Straight No Chaser concert tickets for the three of us next month."

" _Charlie_ ," she threw her arms around him, "she'll _love_ it, Melissa told me she listens to their music all the time. Her favorite song is their cover of "Happy"! And the "Twelve Days of Christmas", of course," she laughed. "And you and I will enjoy it, too. Tom took Sybbie when they were in town last year."

"Well, darling, I was thinking of us when I bought them," he hugged her back, delighted she was so excited. "I've been watching some of their videos on YouTube. They sing _my_ kind of music, classic hits, as well as adaptations of current songs. Including "Marvin Gaye"." He tickled her playfully.

She shrieked with laughter. "Let me guess – is that your favorite song?"

"No," he chortled, trying to hold on to her. "But I have to admit so far my favorite of theirs is "All About That Bass (No Tenors)".

"You're not serious," she gasped, leaning over sideways, escaping from his searching fingers. "I know you, Charlie, you're more likely to listen to "My Girl"." She got up and headed for the bedroom with him in her wake.

"I _am_ serious," he insisted as they got ready for bed. She turned off the lamp over Pepper's bed. Their puppy was snoring. "I like that song."

"No, I don't believe you," she said, climbing under the sheets. "My wee furry one had a few too many sweets today. I should have kept her out of the kitchen, but Becky loves her."

"Of course," he said absent-mindedly, searching on his phone. "Look, watch this." He scooted over so she could see. They watched the video together, laughing at the audience reaction. When it was over, he set the phone on his side table. She snuggled in next to him.

"Maybe I can see your point. About the song."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "What changed your mind?" Resisting the urge to tickle her again, he wound his arms around her waist.

She placed her hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "I think it was the line about a low voice whispering in my ear at night," she whispered. She traced two fingers up from his chest, over his collarbone, and wound it up his neck around his ear before traveling down his jawline and stopping, fingering his lips. "It reminded me of someone I know," she purred.

Charles kissed her fingers. He pulled her closer, winding her leg around his.

 _Yeah, my mama she told me_

' _Don't worry 'bout those tenor guys'_

 _She said, 'Girls like a low voice_

 _To whisper in their ear at night...'_

He sang, his breath along the curve of her neck. "Who did it remind you of?" he breathed, marking every freckle on her shoulder.

She ran her hands into his hair. He moved onto his back, taking her with him. She gasped when she felt his mouth in the hollow of her throat.

"The most seductive man I know," she panted. "It doesn't matter where I hear his voice, whether it's at work, or at- _oh_ , home, or whether he's teasing me about flour on my face, or-"

"Who _is it?_ " he whispered, cupping her cheek in his hand. His other hand stroked down her back. "What does his voice _do_?" Her lips met his in a fiery kiss, and she hummed into his mouth.

"You, my man," she growled. "Your-oh _God_ , your voice is- _yes_ -it-it, makes me want you," she breathed. "I forget myself, I don't know _how_ I worked beside you for so many years without throwing myself into your arms."

"You are in my arms now," he rumbled against her collarbone, "But what I'm going to do to you now has…nothing to do with my voice."

Moaning, she helped him slip off her nightgown.

Their room echoed with the sound of their voices.

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She lay asleep, sated, her hair splayed across her pillow.

For once he was not tired at all. He watched her deep breathing in the moonlight, thinking of her blessed persistence when it came to Christmas.

 _Last year was the first time you really saw it. When she got excited at the first frost in October._

Charles gazed at his wife. Sometimes the previous couple of years seemed almost like a dream to him.

He hadn't told Elsie, but since they had married, he had had a recurring nightmare. He didn't know what triggered them-he thought it was probably when he worried about her, or pondered his age.

In the dream (which always felt very real), he would wake up in the bed, in the house. Alone. He would get dressed, and go to the office. Everyone he knew was there. But when he would go to the office to the right of his, Elsie was never there. He would ask someone where she was, and no matter who he asked, everyone would look at him in confusion.

No one had ever heard of her. She never existed.

Then he would wake up.

The first time he had the dream, he literally woke up yelling. He'd woken up Pepper, and when Elsie woke up, he passed it off as their dog being upset. He'd brought their furry child into bed, but it had taken him ages to go back to sleep.

He didn't want to tell his best friend about it, but he knew he should. Soon.

All he knew was he didn't want to have that nightmare anymore. Lying awake, watching his beautiful wife sleep nude in their bed was the best remedy.

Rolling over onto his side, he gently traced a finger down her back so as not to wake her.

 _I know she'll ask me soon what I want for Christmas. What can I tell her? She is the best gift I ever received._

He smiled, remembering. _And_ _you_ _were nervous about proposing on Christmas Eve. You needn't have worried…_

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 _ **Christmas Eve 2015**_

"Are you leaving? It's one o'clock," Elsie stood in the doorway to his office, holding her coat. He powered off his laptop and closed it.

"Just finishing now. I'm not staying late, no worries," Charles got up and took his coat off the rack. He glanced past her into the hallway. The only person visible was Phyllis, and she had her back to his office, heading down the stairs. Charles leaned over and kissed the office manager on the lips. "I have plans with a gorgeous woman," he whispered. Her face blushed scarlet.

"Mr. Carson, really," she gave him a wide smile as he helped her into her coat. "That was rather risqué. Especially for you. What if someone had seen you?" She brushed lint off of his sleeve.

They had been dating for almost a year, and virtually none of their friends knew about it. The only person at the firm they thought _might_ know for certain was Beryl. Elsie had told Anna she and the managing partner had gone to dinner once, but had told the younger woman nothing else.

Charles knew kissing Mrs. Hughes at the office was tempting fate. And certainly out of character for him. Both had endeavored to be discreet, not wanting their loving relationship to become public knowledge. They were private people.

 _But of any day, today is the day to start being more open in public._

By the next day, he prayed, everyone would know. "No one saw us, Mrs. Hughes. We're the last to leave. As usual." They walked down the stairs and out the front doors. Anna had already shut the lights off and locked up.

Elsie laughed at the clock in the lobby. "That must be a record. The office closed at one, and it's seven minutes past now."

"Everyone wanted to go home, start celebrating," he said as they went outside into the cold wind.

"And we are no exception," she replied archly, getting into her own car.

She followed him home.

They spent most of the afternoon cozily ensconced at his house. He woke up around four to find her standing in his bathrobe, peering out the window.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," he murmured. He reached for her. "Come back to bed, love."

"It's snowing," she said gleefully, untying the knot and letting the big garment fall to the floor.

He didn't register a single syllable she said. She climbed onto the bed, and whipped the blankets back. The sight of him so _ready_ for her was something she was still getting used to.

She hoped the feelings she felt for him would never become routine.

 _He is so lovely, my Charlie, my beautiful man._

She had thought it would have been difficult to reconcile the professional, rather stoic man she had worked with for a quarter-century from this more relaxed, gentle man. But they had been friends for so long the transition had been nearly seamless. Even when they ( _finally_ ) began their physical relationship, it had been easier than she had dared dream.

 _We've been friends for such a long time. We already cared for each other deeply, and that was just the next natural step._

 _Six months we've been making love, and I cannot get enough of him._

 _I love him._

"Come here," he whispered, taking her hand. He kissed it, turned it over and kissed her palm and her wrist.

With a sigh, she straddled him, sinking onto him. His hands held her hips with the cadence of their movements.

" _Yes_ ," she breathed, feeling the familiar pleasure of their bodies moving as one. "Oh- _yes_ , just there, oh-"

Keening, she threw her head back. He came with a roar, spilling into her. He called her name repeatedly as she climaxed. The intensity of the vibrations continued, and he was elated when she spoke Gaelic.

He always knew when she spoke her mother tongue that she had reached her pleasure.

They rocked together until gradually coming to a stop. She kissed his mouth, his neck, his shoulder, then his mouth again. Wildly.

" _Thank you_ ," she whispered fervently, resting her head against his. He chuckled, pulling the sheet up around them.

"You're welcome, my love," he kissed her nose. "And thank _you_."

"Was that my Christmas present?" she asked, her voice muffled against his pounding chest.

"One of them," he stroked her back gently, glancing at the clock. "Oh damn – it's a quarter to five!"

"What!?" she cried, sitting up. "We need to get ready, we don't want to miss dinner!" She leaped out of bed, heading for the master bathroom. "Why don't we shower together? Save time?"

He hadn't moved from the bed. "I don't think us showering together will save time. You go ahead," he threw the sheet off. "I'll use the other one."

After she'd closed the bathroom door, he quickly got up and opened a dresser drawer. He lifted out the box inside, and carried it with his clothes to the bathroom down the hall.

He did not want to risk her finding it, or even worse, him forgetting the ring.

00000

Dinner was at a family-owned restaurant in the city. The place was closing early for Christmas Eve, and by the time Charles and Elsie left, there were only a few people still inside eating.

Charles worried that there was too much time until church at eleven. He suggested driving around downtown to look at the massive displays of lights everywhere. Happily, Elsie agreed.

"It all looks magical," she commented as they passed the huge Catholic cathedral. "Growing up, Becky and I didn't have elaborate decorations to look at, but there's something about even a few candles in windows and the tree lit up inside." She sighed, snuggling in her coat. They continued down a main avenue, near the park. The streets were almost empty.

"I'm glad it stopped snowing," Charles said, turning onto another street. He glanced at Elsie's outraged expression. "Not that I _don't_ like snow, but otherwise it would be a mess to drive in."

"True," she said. "But it is very pretty. Would you mind if we got out and walked a bit? I'm perfectly warm now," she buttoned up her coat.

"All right, just for a bit," he said, finding a parking space. The huge Christmas tree blinked in the wintry dark. Behind it, the fountain reflected red and green.

He didn't have any definite plan. That fact scared him. But proposing to Elsie was not something to practice, like the opening statement at a trial. If there was anything he had learned from the months they had been together, it was that she appreciated his sincerity more than anything.

 _I hope the right words will come to me._

They got out of the car, and headed down the street. His heart danced a tarantella.

 _Please help me to say what I mean._

"I'm surprised no one is about," she said. "It's rather strange, having this place all to ourselves."

"It's nice, I think," he murmured. The temporary ice-skating rink lay to their left. The white lights were on, but the park was deserted. Except for them.

 _Please let her say yes._ His hands were shaking, so he stuffed them in his pockets. "Have you ever wanted to go ice-skating?" he gestured to the spot behind them as they stopped in front of the tree. She laughed.

"I don't know. I haven't done that since I was a wee girl!" she shook her head. "I was never any good at it, always falling down." She grinned at him. "We'd better not. I'd probably fall and break my neck, and then you'd be stuck with me!"

The words she spoke tumbled around in his brain, not making much sense.

Except three words.

He reached out and took her hand. She looked up at him in curiosity.

"But that's the point. I _do_ want to be stuck with you," he said quietly. He fumbled in his other pocket, thankful he'd removed the ring from the box. He got down on one knee, never mind the cold and snow, and his aching knee. "Elsie Hughes," he held up the ring, never looking away from her face, "will you marry me?"

She was shocked. _Shocked._

It was not as if she hadn't thought about it. They had not talked about marriage, not specifically, but their conversations over the last few months about the future had been about them, _together_. She loved him. She _loved_ him.

He loved her, she knew. _Well, he just asked you to marry him, that's a fairly obvious sign…_

She had loved him for years without knowing if he felt the same way. Almost a full year had gone by since he had first asked her on a date, and now here he was proposing!

 _No wonder I'm in shock_.

She thought about being married to him. What that would mean. A public affirmation of their very private love.

 _Most of our friends probably think of us as married already. This will confirm it._

Living together, as well as working together. Creating a home that was for both of them. He, being her husband. She, being his wife.

There was nothing she had ever wanted more.

Nothing.

All of it flashed through her mind in an instant. She was smiling, shaking with the intensity of her joy. Her eyes were alight, like candles glimmering from a window.

"Yes, Charles," she whispered, feeling tears come. " _Yes_ , I will marry you, yes, yes-"

He slipped the ring on her left ring finger, his hands warm. Kissing her, he felt her laugh into his mouth even as he felt the tears on her cheek.

He didn't realize he was crying until she touched his face. He embraced her, tucking her head under his chin. "I love you, Elsie," he whispered. "You have made me so happy."

"You too," she whispered, trying to contain her tears. Giving up, she broke from his embrace and fumbled for a tissue, laughing. "Despite my appearance, I could not be happier!"

He laughed, taking out a handkerchief. "I know what you mean." She wiped her eyes and nose. The ring glittered against the lights on the tree.

"Is this another present, then?" she teased. He nodded, taking her arm and placing it through his. "Then I've had my Christmas," she said softly. "For this year, and for a good ten years to come." She admired the ring. "I don't want anything else."

"All right," he said, feeling rather giddy. "I'll take back the other things I bought for you-"

"No!" she cried, nudging him playfully. He laughed. "Although you will be disappointed. I didn't get you anything to compare to this."

"Yes you did," he said as they walked around the fountain. "You agreeing to be my wife-" his voice wobbled-"is the greatest gift I could ever receive." He held her hand to his lips and fervently kissed it.

"Oh Charles," she whispered, crying. They embraced for a long time. He dipped his head and kissed her again, tasting her, his hands sliding down her back.

The touch of his soft lips on hers made her feel complete. That she was home. She pulled on the lapels of his coat, drawing him closer.

They did not break apart until the bells of the cathedral began to chime. They looked up in wonder.

It was snowing again.

00000

They made several phone calls. Charles called Robert and John, then Mary. Elsie called Beryl, then Anna. Neither went into a great amount of detail, but just relayed the basics.

There would be time for that later.

Christmas Eve service was suffused with joy. They spent much of the time in church holding hands. Charles was glad the lights were dimmed, because he kept kissing Elsie's hand.

 _She will be my wife._

 _Glory to God in the highest._

The choir singing "Angels We Have Heard on High" felt like it was for them.

The music and words of the old story worked their way into Elsie's heart.

 _Peace on earth, good will toward men._

 _Thank you, God. For answering my prayer._

 _He will be my husband._

They kissed again when they got back to Charles's house, despite the late hour and knowing they were expected at Becky's early in the morning.

Finally, Elsie whispered good night one last time. "Merry Christmas," she added, a brilliant smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas," Charles replied. He waited until she had driven down the street and disappeared before going inside.

Neither one of them gave a second thought to what people would say.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Well, this chapter started out funny/flirty, went naughty, then serious. So a bit of everything. Elsie's outfit in this chapter (when she is, er, clothed) is based on what her alter ego wore to the ChildLine Ball in 2013.**

 **Seriously, fellow DA fans, even though canon is now set (I have NOT yet watched the CS, please leave spoilers out of the reviews), fanfiction lives on. Please let me know what you think. Happy New Year to you all! Love, health, and peace to you!**

 **November 2016**

The evening gala at the Art Museum was in full swing. Attorneys and their guests mingled in the galleries, chatting with old colleagues, courtroom adversaries and friends. Some eschewed the priceless art to hover in the Main Hall closest to the champagne.

Elsie wandered through rooms of European paintings and contemporary exhibits on the ground floor. Sipping her drink, she was grateful to have both the opportunity to view such wonders, and the ability to do so outside of the normal visiting hours. The museum was closed to the public, open only to those attending the event.

She stopped in front of a painting by Bartolomeo Manfredi, _Apollo and Marsyas_. Pretending to ignore the two other people in the room, she stepped closer to the picture, her fingers touching her chin. The man next to her shuffled his feet. He was tall, wearing a charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt, and a blue striped tie. His left hand was decorated by a white gold ring. It glinted when he ran his fingers through his silver hair.

Watching him from the corner of her eye, she repressed a gasp, disguising it as a cough.

"Isn't it interesting the way beauty has been portrayed in art?" she asked, admiring the men's bodies in the painting. "This picture, for example. The sculpted back and shoulder muscles…this artist painted Marsyas's nipples in vivid detail!"

The other man in the room, gazing at another painting, whipped his head around so fast Elsie heard his neck crack.

The man next to her barely blinked an eye. "Many Renaissance painters celebrated the human body," he commented, rubbing his prominent nose. "Both male and female."

"Yes," she agreed. "Although they painted an idealized perception of what they thought was beautiful. Artists today have different ideas, especially about women." She grinned. "Which is not a bad thing."

"Not at all," he nodded. "I like when artists, of any kind and at any time, have portrayed the female form in a realistic manner."

"What would _you_ consider a realistic portrayal of the female form?" she asked, turning to him. She sipped her champagne nonchalantly.

"Hmmm," he mused. "My wife would make an excellent subject for a painting. Her hair, with its red and gray strands. The lines on her face from laughter and tears. She has a wonderful figure, too." An impish smile grew across his face. "When we're at home," he said under his breath, "I can barely keep my hands off her."

"Indeed," she said, swallowing hard. Her heart sped up. "And your wife? What does she think of you?"

He took in her long dark blue skirt, the white top covered with sheer blue lines, the sleeves that displayed her arms. The large drop earrings that matched her sparkling necklace.

She watched his eyes drift down with immense satisfaction. She knew he was eyeing the freckles on her chest by the sudden flush that appeared on his face. He cleared his throat and loosened his collar as if he was warm.

The room felt very warm to her.

"Oh, she feels the same," the gentleman said, the corner of his mouth turning up. "She treats me as if I'm a paragon of beauty. I'm hardly that," he shook his head, "but my fair wife loves every inch of my very realistic body. My round belly, the jowls on my neck. My creaky knees. And," he wagged his eyebrows, "my nipples."

The glass in her hand slipped, and she barely caught it with her other hand before it could drop and shatter on the marble floor.

"That-that would make quite a painting," she stuttered. She drank the rest of her champagne in one long sip, making sure to tilt her head back just so. She heard him gasp. "But would you like to see your wife portrayed in art form?" she asked. "I mean, like in a Renaissance painting?" Her eyes danced. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind if she sat nude for a class of art students-"

" _No_ ," More than a hint of force rumbled out of his mouth. He scowled. "Of course, I could never tell her what she could or could not do, but I would most _definitely_ mind if she posed nude!"

Elsie could not resist teasing him further, seeing his temper piqued like that. Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Why? You said she would make an excellent subject for artists!"

"Not without clothes on," he rubbed the back of his neck, whether in frustration or exasperation she couldn't tell. "Yes, she is a woman of grace and charm, but she is for _me_ to appreciate, not anyone else!"

 _He is adorable when he's jealous._

"Oh, I see," she said, trying not to smile. "A work of art for an audience of one?"

"Yes," he huffed. "I belong to her, and she belongs to me. Her expression without words when I have said something foolish, her wise counsel, her cold feet on my leg, her cuddling our furry child," his eyes softened. "Her seductive lilt when she wants to make love."

 _Damn him._

"Where is this wonderful woman?" she managed to choke out, raising her eyebrows. "I assume you hardly let her out of your sight, from the way you describe her."

He downed his champagne. "She had a work function tonight. She's rather a free spirit." He relaxed, smiling fondly. "One of the many reasons why I love her."

"Her nonconformist attitude may serve as another's gain," she said. "A man like you, at an event like this? It's quite risky of her. Women are attracted to handsome men like moths to a flame. Many won't care if you're married or not."

"I'm always on my guard," he replied, his expression serious. "Any woman who tries to seduce me will fail."

"No one disputes that you're the role model for fending off an irresistible woman," Elsie stepped closer to him, a half-smile on her face. She smelled his cologne, and knew he caught the scent of her perfume. "Because you are a man of integrity and honor." She lowered her voice. "No matter how much a woman teases you, or tells you how appealing your character is, or how very attractive you are in that suit, you will be true to your wife," she said, fingering her necklace. "It doesn't matter if a solitary woman hears the faithful description of your body - round belly, nipples, warts and all - and it makes her want to see for herself."

A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. "I don't have warts," he whispered.

"Naturally," she murmured, her face red. His nearness was driving her crazy. She turned her head slightly and bit her lip. "No warts, just a man, a real man who loves his wife." She peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes. He sucked in his breath, his eyes dark.

"Yes, I do," he rumbled. "Very much. And it costs me nothing to say it." He cleared his throat, glancing at the beautiful art around them. "These are marvelous pictures to appreciate, but they remind me that I would prefer to look at her, my best friend, my lover. In person," he emphasized. "I do hope you find something equally satisfying to admire tonight." Without another word, he walked out. She had to admire his resolve.

She sank down on a bench in the center of the room to catch her breath. _Five minutes. Enough time so it doesn't look like I'm chasing after him._

As tempting as that option was.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation." She jumped slightly, looking up at the other, forgotten occupant in the room. He had dark hair, wore a smart suit, and was at least twenty years younger than her. "Am I correct in assuming you are Elsie Carson, sometimes known as the Red Fox?"

"Yes, I am Elsie Carson," she said, standing up to hide her embarrassment. "I'm afraid I don't know you."

"Henry Talbot," he said smoothly, shaking her offered hand. "I've just moved to the area and started at Dickie Merton's firm. I wanted to apply at Carson, Crawley & Bates, but I understand you're not hiring now."

"Yes, that is correct," Elsie replied, hoping to keep the conversation short. Half of her mind was already outside.

"Pity. The firm's reputation is a good one. As is yours," he said, a slight smile on his handsome face. "I hope I didn't offend you just now."

"Not at all," she reassured him. _I don't want to be rude._

"Good," his eyes gleamed. "Because I'd love to go and have a drink with you. Hear your opinion of a modern man's physique. I think you'd find it…satisfying."

 _What. The._

 _ **!?**_

Her mouth fell open. Heat flooded her face. _He_ _ **cannot**_ _be serious._

By the look on his face, he was.

 _This is a proposition._

 _Lord in Heaven._

She didn't know whether to laugh at him or slap him. She blinked rapidly for several seconds. "Mr. Talbot," she recovered, keeping her voice steady, "I am a married woman. A _happily_ married woman," she clarified. _A woman whose husband would undoubtedly throw you from the balcony upstairs if he heard any part of this conversation._

"I am aware of that," he said, brushing it off. "But as you seemed to enjoy toying with that other gentleman just now, I take it you're open to having a friendly drink with me? I do appreciate a woman with confidence."

"Oh, but-" Elsie caught herself before telling him anything more. She bit back a grin. _He doesn't know what Mr. Carson looks like._

 _Well, I'm not going to tell him. Not now._

"Thank you for the compliment, but I must decline your offer," she said, willing herself not to laugh. "I must go." Henry nodded.

"Perhaps some other time. Good evening, Mrs. Carson."

She didn't respond to his comment, but hurried outside before she exploded in amusement.

 _At least you know you've still got it. Beryl will enjoy hearing about this._

Henry watched her leave, then went back into the Main Hall. He didn't understand why the group of attorneys laughed at him. His aunt Prudence Shackleton finally stopped her mirth long enough to set him straight.

He tried to avoid the managing partner of Carson, Crawley & Bates as much as he could.

0000000000

Clothes were scattered on the floor.

Elsie's arms were wrapped around Charles's head, her breath coming out in hard puffs into his hair. He sucked at the hollow between her breasts. Crying out, she threw her head back when he took one into his mouth, lavishing it with his soft lips. Then the other.

Slowly.

"Please, _a ghraidh_ ," she begged. She pressed him harder into her, her fingers curved around his ears. Wanting, needing more.

He gasped her name. Relinquishing her breast, he sat up as she moved forward, and claimed her mouth with his. He laid back down on his side, still kissing her, and pulled her on top of him, his hands caressing her back, squeezing her bottom, searching between her parted legs.

His touch inflamed her. The feel of his body against hers made her moan aloud.

He was everywhere, inside her, holding her hips in a rhythm. She went higher and higher, one hand tugging her hair, lost in her delight of him. She moved faster, not wanting to stop, not ever wanting to stop, until she was there, was there, was there, was _there_ , was taking him in, _all_ of him, oh _God_ , he moved in then out, the pleasure was unbearable, was overpowering, was incredible, just _there_ , yes there, over and over, the feel of her husband, her lover, them together, _yes_ , they were one. She keened, and cried out, and sang her release until her body slowed and stopped.

She was shaking.

 _What he does to me, no one else could ever do._

Despite her own euphoria, she was aware her husband was left somewhat bereft.

Charles sighed, sprawled on his back. He smiled as Elsie kissed him full on the mouth. The smile grew to a smirk when she continued downward. "Are you satisfied, Mrs. Carson?" He rumbled. As long as she was, he would live with his own frustration. _This old body just doesn't cooperate all the time._

"I am, Mr. Carson," she winked at him. Her skin was flushed and her hair was deliciously untidy. She had a number of new blemishes visible. "I want to make sure _you_ are as well."She pressed a long kiss to the scar on his chest, then light ones on either side.

He laughed, stroking her hair. "I only mentioned nipples earlier because _you_ did. I wasn't serious about you liking mine," he let out a short breath, realizing where she was going.

" _I_ was serious," she breathed against his torso, her hands sliding down to his thighs. "I love every part of you, Charlie, every inch of you."

He meant to give her a smart remark, but his breath cut off at the feel of her mouth on his hot, hard skin.

"Oh _God_ ," he roared, his hips rocking forward. "S-s-so g-good-" He didn't want to hurt her, but dear God above, she made him do things he couldn't control.

He was most certainly not in control, not when she used her tongue like that.

How did he ever get so lucky, her freely giving him this, this pleasure, her lips teasing him harder, _yes_ , forget the futility from earlier, he was right on the edge, on fire, he was at her mercy, but he didn't _care-_

Elsie lifted her head from her tormenting ministrations long enough to speak. "Don't stop, love," she murmured. "Come for me."

He did, with a yell that rang in her ears. She smiled at his blatant pleasure. When he finally stopped thrusting forward, he sank back into the pillows. She slid forward again to kiss him languidly on the lips.

Charles's chest still rose and fell several minutes later. "Thank you, darling," he panted. "You were marvelous. Wonderful."

"Mmmmm," she murmured under his chin. "So were you." She kissed him lightly on the lips, tracing her fingers across his stubble. "I love you."

"I love you," he replied, rubbing her shoulder. He pressed his thumb against her lips. "I'm rather parched, are you?"

"Very," she said. Her mouth felt like dry fuzz. Kissing her on the forehead, Charles sat up.

"I'll be right back." After he padded down the hall, she checked on Pepper (saying another prayer of thanks that their puppy slept soundly) before rearranging the mangled bedding back into its original position. She smirked, pulling the comforter up over her legs as Charles returned with two tall glasses of water.

"Thank you," she took a long drink, her eyes twinkling. "I have to say, after all the beautiful art I saw earlier this evening, my naked husband walking into our bedroom is the best piece I've seen."

"And I thought it was the water," he joked. He downed his glass and set it on the side table before joining her under the covers. "Are you sure _I'm_ the best thing you've seen all day? I've heard so much about the newest attorney at Dickie's firm, the man all the women in the county are swooning over. He thinks _you're_ beautiful. Ms. Anstruther will be insanely jealous when she finds out he flirted with you!"

Elsie snorted. "Yes, Charles Ernest Carson, _you_ are the finest person I've seen today, or any day. Mr. Talbot is good looking, but he isn't you. As for Caroline – frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Charles hooted with laughter, hugging her. "Well said," he chuckled. "Dickie told me he was going to take the bulk of their work in the _Springfield_ case. I know part of their strategy is to defer blame from their clients by shifting it to ours." He suddenly growled, his lips at her ear. "That rogue won't know what hit him. I'm going to throw his clients in the line of fire at the deposition next week, and enjoy watching him try to save them. Henry Talbot does not hit on my wife without punishment!"

"Now, now," she soothed, "it should be a compliment to you that your wife is regarded as beautiful, especially at her age." She couldn't help smiling.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Elsie Carson!" he slapped her with a pillow. "You look as though you're regretting not taking young Henry up on his offer!"

She rolled her eyes, an expression he adored. She flopped onto her side, her fingers playing in his chest hair. "Oh please, Charles," she scoffed. "As if I would choose any man over you! But I _am_ allowed to enjoy the fact that the new, hot attorney in the county wanted my attention. I'm a woman, grant me that!"

"He wanted more than just your attention," he retorted, kissing her hand. "It does surprise me that he still propositioned you, knowing you were married!"

"He thought I was flirting with another man," she reminded him. "He didn't know you were _the_ man in my life."

"Hmph," he grumbled, pulling at his hair. "I suppose I should cut him some slack. He didn't know what I look like."

It did bother him, more than he cared to admit. He knew he was being silly. But he couldn't stop himself from wondering what she really thought. If she indulged him because she felt sorry for him.

If she was sorry she'd ended up with him, an old man.

"You are my only love, the only man I could ever want," she whispered, tracing a circle around his scar. She had seen that look on his face before. _How can he doubt, when we've been together so long?_ "I will love you until the day I die."

A memory, like a flash, took her back to the most horrible day she could remember. The day she almost lost him. She blinked back tears. "If you would have died that day at the courthouse," she said thickly, "I never would have married. I think I knew then I loved you, even if I didn't actually think the word."

He held her close, soothing her. She remembered the events of his bypass surgery better than he did. He had been unconscious for days…

 _You've never told her that you heard her._

"I knew then," he said carefully. Neither liked to dwell on that episode in their lives. _Since she brought it up, I might as well._

 _I always meant to._

She raised her head to look at him, wiping her eyes. "What?"

"There's something you should know," he began, glancing at the ceiling. "The day I had my heart attack, I don't remember anything from the courthouse until I woke up several days later. Nothing solid, anyway. Except one thing." He shifted up from lying flat on his back, bunching the pillows. "It's hard to describe…I was, not floating exactly, but everything was blurry. I was drifting," he swallowed and touched her face. "When I talked to the counselor after I woke up, I told him that I was dying. Drifting away." Tears blurred his vision and he forced himself to continue. "Then I heard someone. You." Reaching for her hand, he clasped it as if he would never let go.

"You told me you were there, and that you weren't leaving." He suddenly laughed through his tears. "And then you said, in the only way _you_ can, 'So don't you dare leave me.'" He brushed her cheek, taking a deep breath. "And then I knew how you really felt. You gave me a reason to come back. To live. _You_."

She sobbed, wetting his chest. The memory of that day, the sight of him immobile in the bed, the words she said were as raw as if it had just happened. The steady beat of his heart anchored her. "Charlie…" she gasped, "I was so afraid that you would die, that your last memory of me would be an angry one. When Matthew called, my entire life flashed in front of my eyes. I prayed like I had never prayed before. I couldn't imagine life without you…" she broke down again, causing him to do so as well.

"I never told you I heard you," he whispered, "because I was ashamed. Ashamed that after I recovered, it _still_ took me years to tell you how I felt, and only after much prodding from Beryl. I got a serious taste of what you felt like when you had your cancer scare. I was terrified I would lose you."

For several minutes they simply held each other.

"I've wasted so much time, Elsie," he whispered. "I'm so sorry we haven't had more time together. It's my fault." He thought it was impossible to tell her what he felt for her. _Words cannot express it._

"Hush, Charlie," she put her fingers over his lips. "We've talked about this. Let's not look back, but enjoy the time we _do_ have. Besides," she quirked a smile, "I like to be optimistic. We're making up for it now. I don't regret that, do you?"

"Never," he raised his eyebrows. She sighed when he kissed her, and rolled onto her side. He switched off the lamp and wrapped her in his arms. "Goodnight, I love you."

"'Night," she murmured sleepily. "I love you. Pleasant dreams."

0000000000

He poured scalding hot coffee into the thermos. Rubbing his eyes, he turned the top until it was sealed tight. _I'm going to need a lot of caffeine today._

Pepper nudged her nose against a chew toy. Elsie pulled the gate across the entry to the living room and bent over, scratching the puppy behind her ears. "Lassie, Mam and Da love you! See you later."

She took her coat off the rack and put it on, watching Charles pull his on. Bags were visible under his eyes. "Did you ever go back to sleep?" she asked. She was fairly certain she knew the answer.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"That's all right," she said gently. She hesitated, then said it anyway. "You've been having nightmares for a while."

He shrugged. "It will pass."

 _Something's bothering him._

"Have you thought about calling Dr. Winchester? Just to talk?"

"No," he said shortly. "It's just a phase."

"I don't think so," she said, in that _don't lie to me_ tone of voice. "This has been going on for months." He closed his eyes. _She can see right through me._

"I don't want to talk about it. Not now." He cast around, looking for a distraction, and found it on the clock. "We'll be late for work," he said, reaching for his keys.

She put a hand over his. "You and I both know this is more important," she said quietly.

He glared at her. "I'll take a sleep aid tonight. I'll be _fine_ ," he said defensively, not liking how sharp his voice came out.

She nodded, even though he could tell she wasn't convinced. "All right," she said. "Let's go, I'll drive."

As much as they were open with each other, there were still times when he would erect a wall. She didn't know what was causing the nightmares, but she guessed their conversation the night before had contributed to the latest one. It hurt to watch him suffer. She shook her head, getting out of the car in the parking lot.

 _He can be_ _ **so**_ _stubborn._

 _Like someone else I know._

She hoped he would talk about it, sooner rather than later. She loved him more than she could possibly explain.

When he wasn't happy, neither was she.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Ugh. Double skunk and turpentine ugh. Angst, lots of angst in this chapter. And I'm sorry for the length, too. I should have had this posted over the weekend, but couldn't believe they were having this much trouble. Maybe it's a good thing the website still doesn't work.**

 **Angst is horrible, but two people with as much passion as they do are going to have arguments at some point right? Right?**

 **Early December 2016**

4:37 a.m.

The big red numbers shone through the darkness at him, mocking him.

Charles rubbed his eyes. Willing himself to sleep, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Without success.

 _If only it worked that way._

He sighed, blinking. His only consolation was hearing the breathing of the other two creatures in the room – Pepper, who snored in her little bed on his side of the room, and Elsie, deep in slumber on his other side. He rolled over slowly. The last thing he wanted to do was wake her up. Again.

Her back was to him, her nightgown visible on her shoulder as it rose and fell.

The fact that she wore anything to bed hurt.

 _It's been weeks since we made love._

 _She wouldn't want you anyway, not the way you've been behaving._

He reached for her, suddenly wanting to wake her. To tell her of his torment.

She could always make him feel better.

 _Not this time._

 _Elsie cannot fix this. Neither she nor you can do anything about it._

At the last second, he dropped his hand to the fitted sheet.

 _Don't bother waking her. She'd only be annoyed that you disturbed her rest. She's tired, too._

 _Thanks to you._

4:44 a.m.

He slipped out of bed and into the walk-in closet. Finding what he needed, he padded softly down the hall to the other bathroom. By ten minutes past five, he was showered and dressed. He slipped back into the bedroom. Pepper twitched, but his wife stayed still. He stood watching her for a minute.

 _She's so beautiful._

Bending over, he kissed her hair very lightly and brushed her forehead with his lips. He left a note in plain view on her dresser, knowing she would see it before she left for work.

He stopped at a 24-hour diner for breakfast before heading to the office. He might as well get an early start to the day.

0000000000

"Thanks for the mocha. I love when they bring out the peppermint, it's so festive." Beryl took a sip, then settled the paper cup in its holder. She tapped the steering wheel. "Hurry up, engine, we're freezing." She glanced at Elsie, who fiddled with her keys, putting them in her purse. "I thought you'd be another five minutes, you and Mr. Carson's goodbyes aren't known for being brief."

"He was on the phone," Elsie explained, taking a sip of her own drink. She hated lying to Beryl. Charles _had_ been the way he was hunched over, typing furiously, eyebrows furrowed, had not made for a loving farewell. He had barely grunted goodbye when she left, shutting his office door quietly behind her.

Her heart ached. _Not even a kiss._

Taking another sip of her tea, she hoped the hot liquid would dissolve the lump in her throat.

 _This is no time to get sentimental, girl._

The two women were on their way to the city office for the day. She had regular business to attend to; Beryl was dropping in to assist Ivy and Isobel on a massive medical records project.

"Ah," Beryl replied, as she drove down the main street. She was quiet while Elsie turned the heat up. "I don't mean to pry, but is something going on between you two?"

Elsie laughed, leaning her elbow against the door. "Of _course_ you mean to pry. I would expect nothing less from you," she said, gazing out the front windshield.

"So is there? Something going on, I mean?"

Elsie huffed out a sigh, half in exasperation, half in thankfulness at her friend's ability to see what so many did not.

"I mean, I know something's going on with _him_ ," Beryl said. "That's no secret. He was Mr. Happy for months on end, and he's suddenly turned to Mr. Grouch for the last month. Bill asked about him after Thanksgiving. Charlie seemed all right then, a little tired, but lately – well frankly, he's been a right pain in the arse to most of the staff."

Elsie closed her eyes as they turned onto the highway. None of this was a secret, or a surprise to her.

"I only ask whether it's between you and him," Beryl said, compassion evident in her voice, "because I'm your friend, and I hate to see you suffer like this."

That got her attention.

"Me? I'm fine," she said. She wasn't sure how convincing she sounded. "Charles has had trouble sleeping lately. I know it doesn't excuse his behavior, but we're fine. Just busy. You know, the usual."

"'Fine?'" Beryl quoted. "Oh please, Elspeth May, William used to say that! It was code for him _not_ being fine. Don't think you can get away with it too!"

The office manager leaned back against the seat, feeling the beginning of tears prick her eyes. They drove several miles without a word. Only when Beryl exited the interstate did Elsie feel comfortable enough to speak.

"He's closed himself off," she said quietly. "I know something's been bothering him for a while, but he doesn't want to talk about it. If I ask him, he only gets defensive. I've stopped asking, but he keeps pulling back from me." She didn't want to mention the sense of living on her own again, with a housemate she barely saw and spoke with even less.

"Maybe I need to talk to him," Beryl offered. She drove into the parking garage. "I can find out what's eating him."

It was tempting. Of anyone, if Elsie couldn't get to him, Beryl could. But this was different.

"No," Elsie said firmly. "I mean, I appreciate your willingness to help, but-" she bit her lip, letting out a long breath. "You're right, you know. This is between us. He and I. And...I'd like to keep it that way. He's my husband, after all," she said softly.

Beryl parked the truck. "I understand," she said, turning the engine off and looking at her friend. "Once, I'd have insisted on negotiating between you two – seeing as I did my fair share of that before you were married," a slight twinkle in her eye. She sighed. "But Bill and I talked about it earlier this year, after your wedding. Those days are done. You, Mrs. Stubborn, and Mr. Stubborn will figure this out on your own." She put a hand over Elsie's. "But you know I'm always here if you need someone to listen."

Elsie squeezed her hand.

"Thank you."

0000000000

Half an hour before noon, she felt like she had made real progress. A preliminary schedule for the attorney and staff reviews had been made for January (though she knew it would change many times before they actually took place), she'd spoken with Rosamund about the upcoming paralegal workshop, and finalized details for the staff holiday party. And all this was despite the fact she'd been interrupted more than she could remember.

Of course her door was always open. But normally not that many attorneys made their way to her office.

Gwen was first. She ranted for fifteen minutes over Mr. Carson berating her the week before for leaving work early.

"What else was I supposed to do?" she threw her hands up in the air. "Brandon couldn't get off work, and Mattie was sick with the flu – they wouldn't keep her at school! Has Mr. Carson lost his mind?"

Jane came by and expressed her opinion. She was less vehement than her red-haired colleague, but her concern masked by her stoicism affected Elsie greatly. Jane was followed by Jimmy, who went into a full-blown tirade. He had had it, he said. If the managing partner was going to reprimand his attorneys for events that were mostly overblown, he might as well find another firm to work for.

"It's not just me I'm thinking of," he said, leaning forward. "When he went after my husband – I'm sorry, Elsie, but that was uncalled for! It wasn't Thomas's fault the recycling company missed their weekly pick-up!"

"I know," Elsie tapped a pen on her desk. "Mr. Carson did apologize to him for that." Privately, she was relieved _her_ husband had seen sense, after that incident at least. She managed to convince Jimmy not to quit, or at least not to think about it until after the first of the year.

She was grateful for the pile of work, and for the lengthy lull after the young attorney left her office. She was in the middle of looking over a spreadsheet of box files when someone tapped on her open door.

"Come in, Tom." She adjusted her glasses, hoping she wasn't about to hear more scorn poured on Charles. No matter how much he deserved it.

Tom seated himself in one of the seats in front of her desk, taking a peppermint.

"How are you, Mrs. Carson?"

He was one of the few to call her that. Somehow, the way he asked it almost made her cry. She took off her glasses. Wordlessly, he got up and shut the door.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to make you upset."

She waved off his concern, reaching for a tissue. "No need to apologize, Mr. Branson. You were only asking a question." She sniffed and leaned forward, folding her hands. "I'm holding my own right now, thank you for asking. Now, what complaint do _you_ have against Mr. Carson?"

He half-smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't say I have a complaint. He obviously is upset about something, and is taking it out on others. I know he'll work it out. And when he does, he'll apologize profusely. We'll just have to ride out the storm in the meantime." He grinned wider and tossed the wrapper from the peppermint into the trash can. "I must say, even with his fits of temper, he hasn't acquired a nickname like his wife did several years back."

Elsie laughed and rolled her eyes. "Just because Mary called me the Scottish Dragon _once_ , I've never heard the end of it!" She sighed. " _I_ call the managing partner a curmudgeon from time to time, but he doesn't often deserve the name. He probably is getting called much worse behind his back."

"No," Tom confessed, "although, as you know many of the staff are getting frustrated. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm afraid not. I appreciate your concern," Elsie worked the clasp on her necklace back to its original position. "I know how difficult this is for everyone, and I'm sorry. Charles…can be hard to deal with when he refuses to confront a problem."

"You're right, but like I said, he'll work it out. With your help," the young man stood up, his hands in his pockets. "Sybil used to remind me that being married means you carry your partner's burdens along with them. Mr. Carson's been used to carrying everything himself. Perhaps he needs a reminder."

Elsie thanked him before he left. The weight in her chest lessened further when she checked her phone at lunch.

 _Charles Carson to Elsie Carson, 11:07 am_

 _I'm sorry I didn't give you a proper goodbye before you left this morning. I love you._

She replied quickly.

 _I love you, too. See you when we get back._

0000000000

They returned to the main office in the mid-afternoon.

Wandering into the large storage closet, Elsie found Matthew staring with a bemused expression on his face at the rows of binders.

"What are you looking for?" she asked. He sighed, running a hand through his blond hair.

"I should know which is which, but um – the two inch, I think? The one inch is too small," he said, sounding unsure. "Three of them, please."

Elsie pulled them off the shelf, handing them to him. "Is there anything else you need?"

A small smile appeared on his face. "I could do with a more agreeable spouse at home right now, but then again, so can you."

"It's not often I justify Mary's behavior over my husband," Elsie began, raising her eyebrows, before seeing Matthew's expression. She chuckled. "All right, I _never_ put your wife over Mr. Carson, but at least right now she has a reason for her mood."

"She wasn't this ill when she was pregnant with George," Matthew said under his breath. "The doctor thinks she'll have to deal with it until the end." He raised his eyebrows. "You can imagine how she took the news."

"Yes, I can. I am sorry," Elsie said sympathetically, patting his arm. "I have to say, I am impressed with how well she's doing. All things considered."

He shifted the binders in his hands. "She has a lot on her plate right now. Being ill on top of working, and the holidays are always more stressful. And we've got Marigold staying with us until the end of the week-"

"When does Michael get back from Amsterdam?"

"Not until the eighteenth," Matthew sighed. "When I told Edith we could help out, that was when I thought Mary would have improved health-wise. It's not that bad," he said, "Marigold is a sweetheart, as good as gold. Less of a handful than either of her cousins, not that either of them are horrible. But having another child in the house complicates things. Normally Edith wouldn't have bothered asking us, but she's in the middle of getting the year-end edition of the magazine to deadline."

Elsie was about to respond when they were startled by the sound of someone shouting from the hallway.

"-this is _not_ what I asked for! The Southern District guidelines are very explicit, Judge Harding will not accept this-"

Elsie's heart sank. Charles was standing in front of the doorway to his office, his face red. He gestured to a document in Phyllis's hands. The secretary's voice was calm, although she looked upset.

"I prepared the brief the way you asked me," Phyllis explained. "You said that the header had to be a fourteen font size-"

"Did you listen _at all_ to what I was saying? Must I spell everything out for you?" he cried. "The _old_ guidelines called for that font." He huffed in irritation. "The margins are all wrong as well. I don't have _time_ to look over your shoulder while you do the simplest task! You'll have to go back and do it again."

Several people had drifted out of their offices at the noise, including some from downstairs. The managing partner's voice carried far.

"I expect more from you," he yelled. "More than some shoddy work that any first-time secretary would slap together! Perhaps if you paid more attention to detail than what you're ordering for lunch-"

"Now see here!" Joe shouted, half-trotting down the hall. "That's not fair, Mr. Carson! She's been working on that brief all day today, and half of yesterday! She knows what's right, and-"

"I didn't ask you to interfere," Charles said coldly, taking the document from Phyllis. She was on the verge of tears, and fled down the hallway to the kitchen.

"She's my wife!" Joe cried, spots of red appearing on his face. "And she deserves your respect! You go too far!"

"You forget yourself, Mr. Molesley," Charles said. " _I_ am the managing partner, not you!"

Joe opened his mouth to retort, but John quickly interceded.

"Joe, we all know how much Phyllis does," he said, glancing quickly at Charles. "You should go and check on her." The records clerk stood defiantly for a moment, glaring at the managing partner. He then turned and stalked down the hallway. Elsie let out a breath.

 _This has gone far enough._

"'We all know how much she does?'" Charles turned angrily to the younger partner. "Do I need to remind _you_ who is in charge here, Mr. Bates?"

"Not at all, Mr. Carson," John emphasized his surname, his gaze icy. Charles looked around at the huddled staff, glowering at them.

"Does _anyone_ need a reminder?"

Unseen by him, the office manager felt her blood pressure rise.

 _That's it._

"Stop," she said, in a low but clear voice. "No one needs a reminder, I think you've said _quite_ enough-"

He answered without thinking. " _I_ decide when I have said enough!" he blustered, "This is about my standards, which _I_ set, and _my_ secretary not meeting them! This has nothing to do with you or anyone else, but with Phyllis-"

"Who I hired," Elsie continued, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "I won't stand for you treating her or _any_ member of staff in such a manner! They all work hard-"

"I'll be the judge of that," he shouted, losing control. "At least they work without excessive meddling, unlike the office manager!"

Her face drained of color. He knew immediately he'd crossed a line.

So did everyone else.

Beryl slunk back to her office and silently closed the door; John, Cora and Alfred did the same; Spratt, Denker, and Thomas escaped down the stairs, Madge and Daisy right behind them. Matthew grabbed Mary's arm and yanked her into his office, shutting the door.

Charles watched Elsie flex her fingers, balled them into fists. He was afraid to look her in the face.

"I'm going back to my office," she finally said, an edge in her voice he had never heard before, "and the managing partner should consider that it is _precisely_ my job to know what's going on with staff." He could feel the fury pouring off of her. "But God forbid I be accused of _meddling_." She stormed to her office, and slammed the door so hard he flinched.

He went back into his own office, tossing the forgotten brief on his desk. Staring out the window at the darkening sky, he wondered how he'd let his troubles affect them this badly.

He wasn't happy, he knew he should never have unloaded on Phyllis like that. _She doesn't deserve that._

 _I deserved the lashing from Mr. Molesley._ Part of him was impressed, but he was also unsurprised by the records clerk's behavior. _He defended his wife. Not like me._

 _Chastising her in front of the staff. What in the_ _ **hell**_ _were you thinking?_

Slumping into his chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes. They itched.

 _Even if you had the courage to apologize to her, she really wouldn't listen to you now._

 _She hates you,_ a nasty voice whispered in his brain. _And why not? You've been pushing her away._

It was eerily quiet when he went down the hall. Most of the office doors were still shut. He could barely hear Anna downstairs on the phone.

Relieved to find the Molesleys still in the kitchen, he apologized to both of them. Phyllis had calmed, and appeared mostly like her usual steady self, but Joe was still mad.

Charles couldn't blame him for still being angry. He was angry with himself.

He didn't see or hear the office manager the rest of the day. He drove home without telling her he was leaving for the day.

Letting Pepper out the backdoor, he noticed the reflection of their Christmas tree lights through the window. It felt like a hundred years had passed since he and Elsie and Becky had decorated for the season.

Dinner was nearly ready by the time he heard the front door open. She greeted Pepper, and he listened to the sounds of her setting down her keys, hanging up her coat and purse and kicking off her shoes by the door with increasing anticipation.

She stopped dead when she came around the corner, seeing him by the table. Then she turned to go down the hall. Her eyes were empty, showing nothing.

"It's time to eat," he said softly.

"I'm not hungry," she snapped. Annoyance flared in him.

"At least eat _some_ thing," he said sharply. _Why can't I keep my temper with her?_

"No," she turned on him. "I said I'm not hungry! This is not complicated!"

"If this is about earlier, can't you forget it for ten minutes and eat? I already made dinner-"

"Forget it?" she scoffed. " _Forget it!?_ No one present will forget it! You made sure of that when you shouted at me in front of half of the bloody staff-"

"You were interfering!" he yelled, feeling his temper rising, unable to keep it in check. "I didn't ask your opinion!"

"No, but you needed it," she seethed. "You needed someone other than Joseph Molesley to remind you how much you owe to those who work under you-"

"It is not the position of the office manager to tell me how to treat the staff," he thundered. " _Especially_ not in front of them-"

"Good _God_ , Charles!" she shouted, slamming her fist down on the counter. Pepper whined from the living room. "Did you honestly expect me to listen to you yell at Phyllis for no good reason? To simply stand by and let you treat her that way? She didn't deserve that, she never has-"

"It is not your place to contradict me at the office, no matter how much you disagree with my methods!" he shouted. She gaped at him.

"My _place?_ " she gasped. Her head went back and her eyes flashed. The Scottish Dragon from Mary's childhood description had nothing on the reality. He took a step back, and felt the counter behind him.

" _My place?_ " she repeated, an ominous note in her voice. "How _dare_ you! Is that what you _think_ of me!? That I need to be put in my _place_?"

"You know perfectly well that's not what I meant! I meant you shouldn't challenge me in public!" he yanked a hand through his hair. She trembled, her eyes smoldering.

"If you haven't noticed, I've been doing that for twenty-five years!" she cried. "And it's only _now_ that you're bothered by it? Too late, that ship has sailed-"

"Why couldn't you have just spoken to me later?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Why make a scene like that? We'll be lucky if no one talks outside the office!"

"No thanks to you," she pointed at him. " _You_ were the one making a scene, first with Phyllis, then with your fucking comment about meddling! As for speaking to you later, I had to make sure the staff knew they weren't all going to be sacked! That they would have support!"

Deep down, he knew she was right. But her comment tore at the already raw wound inside him.

"Oh, I see," he fumed, standing up straight again and putting his hands behind his head, "You'll take _their_ side first over mine. Throw _me_ under the bus. I see where I stand with you!"

"This is not – you _know_ I'm on your side!" she raged. "I've defended you to attorneys – did you know Jimmy was on the point of walking out? Gwen's had it, even Matthew is at the end of his rope! And I've had more than one upset employee in my office over the last few weeks, thanks to your horrific temper! And what do I get?" Her voice shook with intensity. "My husband shouting at me in front of our colleagues and friends, giving me the cold shoulder at home-" She turned slightly, putting a hand to her mouth. There were tears in her eyes.

The force of the words hit him hard. He opened his mouth to respond, but found he had nothing to say. His heart sank right through the floor.

"This isn't about Phyllis or any of them," she said thickly, quieter than before. "Or about how we work together. This is about you and me. Charlie," her voice broke, "what's going on with you affects more than just you."

"I know," he said automatically, quickly. Too quickly.

"Do you?" she asked, her arms crossed. "Do you really? When you snap at the staff for no reason, when you don't visit Becky, or see her when she comes here – she misses you, by the way, I've told her you're working very hard – do you have any idea what it's like to see her disappointed? When you brush Pepper aside, when you ignore me except to bite my head off…I've tried to let you work through whatever this is on your own, but I can't anymore. You _have_ to tell me what's wrong. It's like…it's like you've gone back twenty years. When you were alone." She let out a ragged breath. "But even then, you weren't like this. Why do you keep pushing me away? What have I done?" Her voice broke on the last word.

Hurt, pain beyond what he thought possible coursed through him. Fear. Overwhelming, choking fear so bad he thought he might actually choke on it. He covered his face with his hands.

 _Even when I thought I might lose you, I didn't push you away. Now that we're married, I know how happy you make me._

 _The thought that I will lose you one day is unbearable._

It was easier to push her away. It was his first inclination. But she was so much a part of him, a part of his heart, his soul, it was just as painful, if not more, to distance himself. He knew it was wrong to hold her off, but couldn't seem to find a way to tell her what was troubling him.

To tell her how weak he was without her.

The damned nightmare kept showing him a ghastly picture of what his life could have been like. He knew it wasn't real. But the feelings and doubts and shame it stirred up had him paralyzed. That he would never be the man who was truly worthy of her, as he had said at their wedding. There were times that he felt like he fulfilled that, but all too often he felt like a failure.

When he would wake from the dream, it was worse than being asleep. Scenes from his life would parade through his memory. Taunting him. Thoughts of Elsie living for years on her own, caring for him, loving him, and he too stupid or obsessed with his work or frightened of his own feelings to do anything about it. Letting her suffer.

 _And what have you been doing now? The same thing as before. Stop being so selfish, and think of_ _ **her**_ _._

 _She's hurting._

Shame welled up in him so strong he thought he might be sick. Hot tears flowed beneath his hands, and he sobbed, a low whining cry. Over his own grief, he heard her sink onto the sofa.

She was crying.

 _If she really despised you, would she be so upset? No._

It was several minutes before he could even begin to collect himself. He shut off the oven, dinner forgotten.

He didn't know how he would begin to make things right, but he had to try. Anything was better than this. He made his way into the living room, his face wet.

Elsie sat on the sofa, holding Pepper in her arms. The dog whined incessantly, clearly upset. Charles didn't blame her.

He had never seen his wife in such a state. She sobbed, tears pouring down her streaked face. He felt completely helpless.

 _There is literally nothing I could say to make her feel better._

He stood there powerless, fighting the overwhelming urge to walk out of the room, to shut himself away. Away from her pain because he couldn't stand his own.

Something moved him closer. He sat down next to her, expecting her to push him away, to yell at him.

 _No. That's what you've done, but never her._

It was incredibly difficult, but he reached out and put his arms around her. She shuddered a great gasping sob, and she cried against him. His shirt was soaked in no time. He rubbed her back, tucked strands of her hair behind her ears.

He whispered, not knowing if she heard him. That it wasn't her fault, that she'd done nothing wrong. That he was sorry for pushing her away.

Eventually her sobs quieted. She leaned her head, exhausted, against his shoulder. He took Pepper from her, and was relieved when the puppy licked his hand. He got Elsie to stand up, and with her consent sat her down in the kitchen. He put the kettle on for tea. While the water boiled, he called and ordered pizza.

They stayed up late talking. When Elsie expressed a craving for ice cream, he said nothing about it being December, but drove to Dairy Queen and bought her a Blizzard.

She listened, holding his hand, while he told her about the nightmare. Her thumb rubbed the back of his hand in an endless circle. This time it was she who held him as he cried, reassuring him with her presence. He then called the doctor, even though it was well past midnight, and left a message.

They crawled into bed, Elsie holding the sleeping Pepper against her, with her back against Charles's solid warmth.

"I'm not angry, not like I was," she whispered in the dark, his arms around her. "But this won't be over tomorrow. Or later today," she clarified. She turned her head, feeling his lips against her temple. "You and I will have to work through this. I wish I could tell you I'm going to live forever, Charlie," she touched his chin. "But I can't, and neither can you. I can't promise that I'll live to be one hundred years old. But when I said I wasn't leaving you, I meant it. If I die first, I will haunt you forevermore. You're stuck with me." She felt his smile against her hair.

He clasped his arms tighter around her. "And you're stuck with me," he murmured. "I've been an ass, a complete and utter fool. The thing I most regret about today is _not_ that I yelled at you, as horrible as that was. It was that I forgot the most important thing – you are my wife _first_ , and the office manager second. A very distant second. Neither my wife nor the office manager deserved my temper. I'm sorry," he whispered.

She squeezed his arm. "You're forgiven."

"I think I should give Mr. Molesley a raise," he said sleepily. "He was quite the knight in shining armor. Phyllis is very fortunate." He poked Elsie. "Did you ever imagine he'd be a better husband than I am?"

"Yes," she suppressed a giggle. She reached back and touched his face. "But I don't want him."

She waited for her husband to ask the obvious question, until she heard his soft snore. Smiling, she tucked the blanket around Pepper.

Within seconds she was asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Here's my groveling apology for the last chapter…smut, fluff, smut, fluff. The Christmas stuff – I'm allowed, it's still January 5** **th** **here, which is the Twelfth Day of Christmas. Twelve drummers drumming, etc, etc, etc.**

 **I own nothing. Any mistakes you see are the result of another gargantuan chapter and me trying to do too much.**

 **Mid-December 2016**

In some ways, it was like starting over. In others, it was like they picked up where they had left off.

The Friday after their fight, Pedro's missed them, but their outing instead had been planned for some time. They took Becky out to dinner first and then to the Straight No Chaser concert.

Charles was elated to hear the sisters laughing and enjoying the music.

He laughed a lot, too.

Elsie delighted to hear him, and during the intermission, amused herself watching Charles and Becky elbow each other back and forth like children. She took several pictures of them together.

 _This is my Christmas present. My family happy._

The concert was a bright spot. There were still valleys to contend with.

The first two appointments with Dr. Winchester were difficult, much more so than Charles expected.

"Getting married, even when it's a wonderful event with the one you love, is very stressful," the doctor told him. "And the transition is not always easy, especially for two independent people like you and Elsie. You've had a lot of changes in the last twelve months."

Talking with a neutral observer about the nightmare was easier than telling his wife. Dr. Winchester mostly listened, with a question offered here and there. Charles found himself talking more than he normally did about himself, but was frustrated when he was told there was no "instant solution".

"This is a process, and it will take some time. Rome wasn't built in a day," the doctor smiled reassuringly.

 _Or a night_ , Charles thought. He was still plagued with uneven sleep, and he felt guilty whenever he disturbed Elsie. Taking the doctor's advice, he stopped lingering on his laptop in the evening hours. He also resumed what had been a three-day-a-week habit since his heart surgery: swimming.

"I don't know how you can get up so early," Elsie yawned the first time he set the alarm for five, "but if you like it, keep it up! And," she snuggled against him, "it's good for you." She kissed him slowly, lingering against his lips.

He was sorely tempted, but his body and mind were still not in sync. Sighing, he reluctantly kissed her once more, then settled himself into his usual position. Her back against his chest, his arms full of her. She drifted off quickly while he breathed in the scent of her hair.

It was damned frustrating. For her, as well as him. Dr. Winchester was quick to tell him their intimacy would return. Let it come naturally, don't force it. Charles knew it was wise counsel, but he was impatient to love Elsie again, to feel her body around him, inside him.

 _Patience._

He laughed quietly, keeping his movement to a minimum. This was not actually the first time he'd dealt with such conflicted feelings. Of course, the last time the cause had not been his fault…

0000000000

 _March 2015_

 _Two months._

 _Two months of dates, of meals shared, of time spent together. She was even more beautiful now, something he thought previously would be impossible._

 _He was staring off into space when Robert walked into his office. Startled, he looked up at his partner's amused expression._

" _It's not often you're caught daydreaming. I ought to enjoy this," Robert laughed at him for a moment. "I'm just leaving. Don't worry, I'll object to everything Richard Carlisle will bring up at Fred Walker's deposition." He left Charles's office._

 _Briefly, Robert wondered if the managing partner was thinking of a woman. He'd seen_ _ **that**_ _look on more than one man's face. Then he set it aside. Charles Carson, a romantic? Pigs would fly first, as Mama would say._

 _Charles shook himself, forced himself to concentrate on his work. He succeeded for a quarter of an hour until he heard the familiar lilt of the office manager in the hallway, talking to Phyllis._

" _Yes, I will be sure to mention that to Ivy," she said, doing a double-take in his direction. He realized he was staring, and felt his face grow warm. She turned back to his secretary. "I'll see you later this afternoon." She glanced at Charles again as she passed his door, a smile hovering on her lips. His eyebrows furrowed. She wasn't heading towards the stairs by the reception area. Then he remembered._

 _The interior staircase led to a door opening to the outside as well. There were no windows._

 _He got up and walked leisurely down the hallway, pretending to go in the direction of the men's room. No one was looking. He opened the door to the stairway._

" _Mrs. Hughes?" He had to be sure no one would hear him call her name by mistake. That would blow their cover straightaway._

" _Here." She stood on the landing between the ground floor and the floor above. He trotted down the eleven steps, suddenly wondering what he was going to say._

" _I wondered if you'd come to say goodbye. I'll miss not hearing your booming voice through the wall today." Her blue eyes sparkled._

 _He gaped at her for several seconds. How she managed to sound both polite and drop-dead sexy at the same time was beyond all reason. And of course she was wearing the black skirt that perfectly followed the curve of her hips. He swallowed._

" _I'll miss you too," he said, barely above a whisper. A shot of adrenaline ran through him when he saw her shiver, biting her lip._

 _He didn't care that someone could come through the door at any second. Leaning over, he drew her chin towards him and kissed her. A short, sweet kiss. He looked down at her, her pink face, her eyes half-lidded._

 _He kissed her again, opening his mouth over hers._

 _An echo of her moan wafted up through the stairwell. She stumbled backwards, he along with her. He was suddenly aware of his trousers feeling tight._

 _She was the only woman who could arouse him at 8:30 on a gray Thursday morning in March._

 _The concrete wall was cold against her back. She didn't feel it. Only the feel of the man against her, his big hands holding her waist in place. His tongue sliding over hers. She moaned again when she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his neck above his suit jacket._

 _They had kissed numerous times since their first, in front of the fountain at the park in January. But there was a singular heat to this one that neither of them had ever felt before._

 _She had never felt his erection before._

 _Her breasts against his chest, through her coat, were like throwing gasoline on a fire. He folded her collar back, pressing his lips against the softest skin he had ever felt. He flicked his tongue against her neck and was rewarded with a high-pitched sigh._

 _They had to stop._ _ **He**_ _had to stop. His body was rapidly approaching the point of no return, and unlike what he had thought in previous weeks, that she would be the one to hold them in check, she was positively encouraging him to continue. Her gasps and pants were music to his ears. And good_ _ **God**_ _, now she was rocking against him, the friction of her body against his, his willpower ready to snap, his hips moving with hers. Her hands touched the clasp of his belt-_

 _They both heard the beep and click of the door opening on the ground floor. Within half a second, he had leaped away from her, half-turning to try and calm himself. She pulled her coat around her neck, her eyes glassy. Andy Parker trudged up the stairs carrying a box._

" _Good morning, Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Carson," he nodded at the managing partner, who nodded back. When the clerk had gone into the office on the upper floor, the interrupted couple stared at each other in disbelief. Then they laughed quietly._

" _I must go," she said finally, her hand in her pocket. He heard the jingle of her car keys._

" _I know. I-see you later?" he stuttered, still somewhat undone. He was gratified to see the flush on her face, her checking her hair, straightening her skirt._

" _See you later," she smiled, blowing him a kiss._

 _He got very little work done that day. That evening, he resorted to self-pleasure for the first time in years. He went to sleep dreaming of her in his arms._

 _Somehow she managed to get through the day at the city office, though she knew Tom Branson looked at her strangely at least once during their short meeting. She was so distracted that afternoon she left her laptop behind._

 _On the other hand, she found the vibrator that night in her condo. It still worked._

 _Perfectly._

0000000000

The sounds of laughter and splashing water were clear even from the living room. Pepper barked. Charles poked his head into the hallway.

"Is everything all right in there?"

"Yes!" Elsie's muffled voice called back. He heard her say something to Pepper. There was a suddenly a shriek, a loud splash, and a sudden thud. The cracked bathroom door flew all the way open and Elsie yelled frantically, "Catch her, Charles! She got into the bath-"

The puppy raced into the living room, just past his outstretched hands. She was soaking wet and covered in bubbles. He approached her slowly, not wanting her to go back around him. He managed to corner her by the coatrack.

"Got her!" he yelled. Elsie closed the bathroom door. Picking Pepper up, Charles rummaged in the laundry closet for a couple of old towels.

"And what were _you_ doing, Missy?" he asked, drying her off in the kitchen. "Mummy let you in the bathroom so you could see what she was doing, but that bath was _not_ for you. That's just for Sybbie and Marigold." He shook his head, hoping there wasn't too much of a mess to clean up.

Two little girls standing in their nightgowns with wet hair suddenly appeared from the hall. Pepper lunged forward in his arms, but he held her back. "Almost done," he rubbed her head with a towel, then threw it over the puppy, letting go of her. She danced blind under the covering as the girls giggled.

"She's caught!" Marigold cried, clapping her hands. "She's caught in the net!" Pepper wriggled free of the towel and immediately made a beeline for the curly-haired youngster, who squealed and darted towards the sink.

"Save us, Uncle Carson! The sea monster's after us!" yelled Sybbie, her arm around Charles's leg. He picked her up, then scooped up Marigold in his other arm as the fearsome monster kept trying to jump up on him. Or lick him. One of the two.

He dropped the girls on the couch with a dramatic flourish. They laughed, bouncing on the cushions. Pepper lost interest and sniffed at the tongs by the fire.

"Can we have piggyback rides? _Please?_ " Sybbie begged. "Uncle Thomas always gives us rides, they're Marigold's favorite!" Her cousin nodded enthusiastically.

With a sigh, Charles sat down in the recliner. "I'm sorry, but no. I'm tired," he said, wishing he could indulge them. He was strong enough to carry one of them in each arm, but his back was not strong enough for two growing girls. Maybe Marigold, but not Sybbie.

"Why not?" Sybbie asked, a smidgen of a whine on her voice. "Uncle Thomas doesn't get tired, he carried Georgie for an _hour_ last summer-"

"Well, Uncle Thomas is a lot younger than I am," Charles said, trying not to take the slight personally. "That's enough, Sybbie Branson." He gave her a hint of a frown. She sulked, crossing her arms. The expression was so reminiscent of her mother he almost laughed. Instead he covered it with a cough. "Where's Aunt Carson?"

"In the bathroom," Sybbie turned around backwards and dangled her head upside down. "She fell over."

"What?" he cried. "Is she all right?"

" _Yeeeesssssss_ ," Sybbie dragged the word out as Marigold nodded. "She told us to come in here while she mopped the floor."

"Oh. Good. Well," he said, his hands on his knees, "Uncle Thomas might give you rides, but I bet he can't do this." He got up and went into the kitchen, returning with three oranges from the fruit bowl. He juggled them easily. Sybbie sat up straight, brushing her hair out of her face to see. Marigold's eyes were as round as saucers. He finished and received a round of applause.

"Wow!" Sybbie said. "Daddy can't do that!"

 _I know_. He fought a smirk. "I've had lots of practice," he said, placing the fruit on the side table next to the couch.

"Can you do it again?"

It was spoken so quietly he almost didn't hear Marigold. He turned to the little girl, whose big eyes didn't leave his. "Please?" she asked. His heart melted. She was so shy, and seemed afraid of him the few times she'd stayed with him and Elsie.

To his recollection, she had never spoken directly to him before. "Of course," he smiled, his eyes soft. He picked up the oranges again. She gave him a toothy grin.

Elsie didn't come into the living room until half an hour later. By that time, Charles was almost through the second reading of _A Visit from St. Nicholas._

 _He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,_

 _And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,_

 _And laying his finger aside of his nose,_

 _And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;_

 _He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,_

 _And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,_

 _But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,_

" _Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."_

Sybbie leaned against him on one side in the recliner, engrossed in the book. Marigold was tucked in the crook of Charles's elbow, her thumb half in her mouth, her eyes heavy. Pepper snored from the floor. Flames snapped in the fireplace, breaking the quiet. The glow reflected against the multi-colored lights on the tree.

The picture before her was so perfect it brought tears to Elsie's eyes. Smiling broadly, she stepped into the room. "It _should_ be a good night for two wee girls," she said. "It's past their bedtime."

Charles looked up and caught his breath. Her hair was wild and frizzy from the humidity, and there was a wet stain on the lower part of her blouse. It clung rather tightly to her.

"Yes," he managed to say, "Time for bed. Sybbie, go with your aunt-"

Sybil's daughter rubbed her eyes as she slid off the couch, and Elsie instinctively picked her up. "Ooh, you are getting so big," she said, walking down the hall to the guest room. Behind her, Charles carried Marigold, who nodded against his shoulder.

They tucked the girls into the double bed. Marigold woke up a little when Charles laid her down, but she rolled over onto her side and fell asleep before he'd pulled the comforter up by her chin. He kissed her on the head, smiling at the thumb in her mouth.

"Aunt Carson?" murmured Sybbie. "Can you sing me a song?" She yawned. Elsie tucked her hair back, sitting on the side of the bed.

"Yes, but just one," she whispered. "Then you must go to sleep." She began to hum very quietly as Charles stood in the doorway, letting the hall light shine in on the floor. He turned on the nightlight as Elsie sang the "Coventry Carol".

 _Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,_

 _Bye bye, lully, lullay._

 _Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,_

 _Bye bye, lully, lullay._

 _O sisters too, how may we do_

 _For to preserve this day…_

He had never seen or heard anything so beautiful.

When she was finished, she kissed Sybbie and stood up. He held the door open for her and closed it behind them.

"I love that tune," he muttered. "I remember my mother singing that to me at Christmastime. I loved hearing her sing," he smiled, remembering, "but you have a better voice."

"Thank you, Mr. Flatterer," she laughed, squeezing his hand before sitting on the couch. "I wanted to sing something quiet, I was hardly going to sing 'Jingle Bells' with Marigold asleep," she bent over picked up the flannel blanket that had fallen on the floor.

"Are you tired?" he asked, pulling out two wine glasses next to the decanter. "You must be. Sybbie said you fell in the bathroom."

"Oh," she waved it off. "When Pepper jumped out of the tub, I lost my balance and fell on my behind. No harm done. The girls thought it was funny." She took his offered glass of wine gratefully. "I'm not tired, actually. Anna talks about how she gets her second wind after Poppy goes to bed. She says she gets a lot of work done in the late evening. I didn't know if I believed her before," she sipped her port, "but she's right."

"You'll be tired tomorrow," he said, sitting down next to her with his own glass.

She gazed at him fondly. "Maybe, but I don't mind. It was worth having them here to see you reading them Clement Moore's poem."

"They liked it," he said. "And fortunately, 'tis the season." He set his glass down and leaned forward. He didn't want to break the mood, but knew he had to mention anything that affected him. It was part of their agreement. "Sybbie wanted a piggyback ride. They both did. I wanted to…but I know I can't carry them for long without injuring myself. Sybbie said Thomas gives them rides all the time." He rubbed his head. "It reminded me of my age."

Elsie touched Charles on the shoulder. "She didn't mean to say anything to hurt you. She's just a child."

"I know," he gave her a smile before looking into the fire. "It turned out all right. I juggled for them. Marigold asked me to do it more than once. She's never talked to me before. Not directly at least."

"She looked quite comfortable sitting next to you," Elsie kissed him on the cheek. "It was very sweet. Cora told me Marigold's a daddy's girl. She's missed Michael terribly while he's been away."

"Robert loves her, but I think he's used to Sybbie and George's exuberance," Charles commented. "Marigold has a different personality. She actually reminds me a little," he cleared his throat, "a little of me at her age."

"You?" Elsie asked, raising her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes," he said, nudging her affectionately. "I was a shy boy, and wasn't very comfortable around many people when I was young. I was very close to my grandfather, you know. He used to read to me when I was small. He had a workshop where he'd do woodworking projects, carving small animals. I used to sit in there for hours..."

He was far away, seeing a curly-haired small boy with legs dangling over a chair, wood shavings and sawdust on the floor. The smell of his grandfather's pipe. The reverie was broken when the dying fire popped.

"Sorry," he said, putting an arm around his wife, "I was just…remembering."

She touched his face. "Me too." He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"What were you remembering?"

"Mmmm, Christmases at the farm. We didn't have much, but they were lovely," she said quietly. "Hogmanay was always the _real_ celebration, especially to my uncles, Mam's brothers. Her oldest brother, my uncle David, never to my knowledge celebrated Christmas. I always felt rather sorry for him, thinking Father Christmas never paid him, my aunt or my cousins a visit!"

"What was your favorite Christmas growing up?" he asked, finishing his port. "Do you have one?"

She grinned widely. "Easy. Becky's first Christmas. I was nearly nine, and it was the first year I really remember being excited about it. Mam, I think, was grateful that I loved to hold my wee bab sister so much. It gave her a chance to do all the baking and cleaning and such. I remember holding Becky on Christmas morning before Mam and Da were awake, thinking I didn't want anything else. She was like my own living doll! Of course," she laughed, "a little while later, I was terribly excited when Da gave me my stocking. The peppermint stick was _huge_. It took me days to get through it!"

He hugged her. "I doubt Father Christmas will leave one in your stocking this year then. We'll see."

"I guess it will depend on whether or not he thinks I've been a good girl," she said, giving him a cheeky smile. She got up, taking their glasses into the kitchen. He heard her open the dishwasher and start cleaning it out. Standing up, he stretched for a moment before putting out what was left of the fire. He then picked up the slumbering puppy and carried her to her bed.

Not a sound came from the guest bedroom.

Elsie hummed, opening the cabinet and setting plates inside. She had closed the dishwasher and was setting the wine glasses in the sink when she felt Charles slip his arms around her. She let out a soft sigh at his solid warmth. He kissed the top of her head, and she leaned back against him.

 _It's been a long time._

She didn't want to tempt fate, or push him, but she desperately hoped the evening would end with more than just a cuddle. His touch felt _so_ good.

He murmured wordlessly into her hair, sliding his hands up from her waist, over her belly to cup her breasts. She gasped. Turning her head, she reached behind his neck to draw his mouth down to hers. Nipping his lower lip, she tasted port, and a hint of the bread pudding they'd had for dessert. But mostly she tasted him, her Charlie.

His lips moved over hers, and he glided his tongue between her teeth. He moaned when she pulled him closer. She responded with her own at his persistent touch, his fingers caressing the rounded curve of her soft breasts in his hands. Over the fabric of her blouse, he slid one hand up, finding the collar where it tapered to a V, and stroked the bare flesh. She broke away from his mouth, breathing heavily.

She tried to turn in his arms but failed. He continued his ceaseless fondling of her breasts with one hand on top while the other explored beneath her shirt. When he slid his hand into her bra and rubbed her nipple between his fingers, she let out a low cry and arched against him.

" _Charlie_ ," she whispered.

It was a good thing he moved his other arm back around her waist. She wasn't sure she would be able to stand much longer without it.

Charles bent his head over his writhing wife and sucked at the skin below her right ear hard. He grazed his teeth against her shoulder, his hot breath in bursts as he tugged at her blouse, pulling it so the right side slid down her arm.

He didn't want to overthink anything. He went by instinct, led by her panting and sighs, her subtle but growing rocking of her bottom against his groin. Pressing his hand against her belly, he thrust forward just as she moved back. She gave a loud cry and her knees buckled. He only just caught her before she fell onto the floor.

"Come with me, _a ghraidh_ ," he breathed into her hair. He pulled her to a standing position and thrust again, his arms securely around her. Her hands pulled at his neck. She was nearly weeping with desire.

Finally turning her in his arms, he leaned his head against hers. "My darling, come away." The corner of his mouth turned up. "The bairns and the dog are asleep, and our bed waits for you." He kissed her forehead.

She did not think it was possible to be any more aroused until he spoke. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him passionately. " _A ghraidh_ , take me to bed," she gasped, trembling. Her eyes were dark. "I want-I _need_ you, Charles."

They undressed each other in the bedroom, the door closed. She was on fire for his touch, and almost ripped his shirt from his body. All of her restraint was gone.

 _I am dying for his touch. My man, my lover, my husband, release me._

Her palpable ardor made him groan aloud. Her breath against his chest, her fingers unzipping his trousers combined to make him fully erect before he managed to pull her blouse off. He held onto the post at the end of the bed as he yanked his trousers off one leg at a time. She was fully undressed in bed, the covers turned down by the time he got his shorts off.

She rose up on her knees and reached for him. Without a word, he climbed onto the bed and into her outstretched arms.

 _She wants me. She_ _ **wants**_ _me._

 _For God's sake, stop thinking. NOW._

They kissed and kissed and _kissed_ , her pressing one of his hands to her breast. The other teased her core. That lasted only seconds.

" _God_ , Charlie," she rasped, her hips moving at a frantic speed against his torso. " _Now, a ghraidh-_ "

He laid down and pulled her on top of him. He entered her almost in the same motion. Thrusting hard, harder, feeling the explosion of her climax around him. She was around him, inside him.

She keened, her voice rising higher as the sensations broke over her like a wave, one after the other. Wild cries erupted from her mouth. She was in their bed, taking him in, milking his pleasure, but she was far away on the shores of the sea, the thunder of the water released from the swell of the incoming tide.

He held her against him, closer, closer. Pounding into her. Increasing the friction against her nub, feeling her wetness and his seed together. She was loud in his ear.

 _Closer, closer._

Their skin was damp with perspiration when he cried out, shouted his ecstasy. Elsie, his lover, his woman, _God_ , he had missed her, missed this, missed _them_ , she had missed him, missed her mate, every cry he heard from her he felt in his soul.

 _I will never leave you. You are my only._

Even if she were able, there would be no need to tell him not to stop. To keep going, to take her like this, almost rough yet his gentle hands at her back, moving her in a rhythm that brought him deeper, closer to her.

He pushed inside her once more. Her cries stopped, and she lay gasping against the steady drum of his heartbeat. Her throat was raw but she was too exhausted to do anything about it. For a long time there was nothing except the sound of their rapid breathing.

"I love you," she whispered through dry lips. "That was- _incredible_ , husband." She dissolved into laughter, all tension dissipated. He rubbed her back. They kissed again slowly.

He felt as though their recent estrangement had served to bring them even closer together. Not that he had any desire to repeat the episode.

 _Cherish your wife. No matter how much time you or she may have._

"You're welcome," he told her as they settled sleepily under the covers. "You are a marvel, wife. I love you, Elsie." He kissed her fingers.

Before she dropped off to sleep, she heard him chuckle. "I hope we didn't wake the bairns."

0000000000

Breakfast was a quiet, if hurried, meal the next morning. Charles had to encourage the girls to eat their cereal and fruit multiple times. Normally he would have needed more coffee to remain in a good mood, but the previous night's activity took a powerful, if temporary, place instead of caffeine.

"Just a few more bites of cereal, Sybbie," he said. "You've done well, all of your fruit is gone."

"Uncle Carson, can I have more grapes?" Marigold asked. He glanced at her plate and bowl.

" _May_ I. Yes, just a few more," he dropped five onto her plate as Elsie swept into the kitchen, looking harried.

"Sybbie, do you have your backpack? Oh, there it is," she said, pouring herself a cup of tea. "You and I need to leave in about five minutes, dear." Sybbie nodded, munching cereal. She and Marigold giggled under their breath.

Charles got up and carried his cup and plate to the sink. "Good morning," he greeted Elsie with a kiss on the cheek. "Can I get you something? Toast? English muffin?"

"Either is fine, thank you," she said, pulling on her sweater. He dropped a muffin into the toaster, turning down the setting. He had a bad habit of burning things in it. _Toasters hate me._

"Are you cold?" he asked. "You hardly ever wear that-"

She gave him a rueful smile, blowing on her tea. "I know, but it was either wear this or wear something else and dab makeup on my neck."

"Sorry," he smirked. She slapped him playfully with the Arts section of the newspaper.

"You'd better be," The tone of voice meant the opposite.

"Aunt Carson? Is Pepper a guard dog?" Sybbie asked. Elsie shook her head. The muffin popped up and Charles spread some apricot jam onto it.

"She quite protective, but no, she hasn't been trained as a guard dog," she said, biting into one half of her breakfast. "Why?"

"Because the sea monster might come back," Marigold said. Charles raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about him. I think he goes someplace warmer in the winter," he said in a soothing tone, picking up his briefcase and setting it on the floor.

" _Her_ ," corrected Sybbie. "And she's not gone, we heard her last night. She was shrieking in your bedroom-"

Elsie choked on the English muffin. She turned aside, coughing, her face red. She and Charles shared a horrified look. When she could talk again, she thought about how she could get the children's minds away from asking potentially embarrassing questions.

"Well, Marigold, perhaps you should ask your father about it when he gets home. He has to fly over the Atlantic, maybe he'll see her! Sybbie," she held out her hand, "time to go. Say goodbye to Marigold and Uncle Carson." She finished her tea as the older girl picked up her backpack and grabbed her hand.

Charles gave Elsie a quick kiss. "I'll be in a little after eight, after I drop Miss Marigold at Edith's."

"Right, see you," she said, pulling on her coat with one arm. He helped her into the rest of it.

Late that afternoon, Elsie's cell phone buzzed.

 _Tom Branson to Elsie Carson, 4:17 pm_

 _Thanks for looking after the girls last night, Edith sends her thanks as well. They had fun. But what's this I hear about a sea monster? More like Nessie's been moved from Scotland to America! ;)_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I've had this plot point in my mind since, well, the Paris attacks in November. TW for news of terror.**

 **Mid-December 2016**

It was a quiet Friday morning, exactly a week before Christmas. The firm office party had been held the night before, the partners always agreeing to limit everyone's alcohol intake by holding it on a Thursday. Their intention was rarely successful. Naturally, the staff was subdued the next day.

"I only had two drinks," Beryl said, stirring her coffee in the kitchen. She stifled a yawn. "Usually I have twice that before Bill stops me."

"Three and a _half_ ," Elsie corrected. She blew on her tea. "Don't you remember those cinnamon-flavored shots we had when we arrived?" Beryl grinned.

"Oh yeah…"

They walked to Beryl's office, chatting about the party and the upcoming holiday.

"What will you be getting from Mr. Carson?"

Elsie leaned in the doorway. "Oh, nothing much, I shouldn't wonder. We _did_ get married this year, and next year we want to sell the house. I got him two new suits, and several books he hinted at." She sighed. "He's so _difficult_ to buy for!"

She had yet to buy him anything he did not want or need.

"Bill and I do our shopping for each other together," Beryl said, opening her email. "We just point and say – 'that, that, don't get me that, are you mad?'"

Laughing, Elsie shook her head. "But there's no fun in that! No surprises!" Her friend shrugged.

"We're too old for surprises. Besides, he likes to wrap my things in strange-shaped boxes, so I can't guess what's inside them. That's all the fun I need. Speaking of fun," she swung her chair around, "when you and I were out last week, what was going on when you bought that lace satin slip from Victoria's Secret? I thought that was going to be one of the presents old Charlie got you. Was he too embarrassed to go and get it himself? Made you do the work?"

The office manager raised an eyebrow. "No. One gift from him was a gift card to the store. He didn't want to risk buying something I did not like." Beryl frowned.

"But why did he give you the card _before_ Christmas then?" She raised her own eyebrows at Elsie's expression. "Oh, I see. His gift to you was the card, and your gift to him is…letting him enjoy whatever you bought. Or rather, enjoy what's underneath whatever you bought."

"Shhh!" Elsie hushed her, turning pink. Madge and Alfred were passing by in the hallway.

The records clerks supervisor laughed. "Don't act the prude with me. Everyone around here knows what goes on between you two. Thank God you both got your act together, you both are in _much_ better moods than you were a few weeks ago." Her eyes twinkled. "Tom Branson told me last night Sybbie and Marigold are convinced the sea-monster lives at your house. Specifically in your bedroom. I can't think of any _possible_ reason why."

Rolling her eyes, Elsie went to leave her office, a smile on her lips. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Ha, very smooth, Mrs. Carson!" Beryl called after her.

0000000000

The frigid air stung Charles's face as the group walked back from the courthouse. Reaching out, he took Mary's arm when they crossed the street. She sighed, but didn't take her arm from his.

"Really, Carson, you're worse than Papa."

"There's ice in the road," he protested. "We can't have you slipping and falling over." He gave her his most innocent look. "I'm thinking of the baby, if you must know."

She burst out laughing. "You don't fool me. Although I know you care about her. I think you wanted me to have a daughter even more than _I_ did."

"Maybe," he couldn't help smiling. He opened the door for her as they went in, and for the rest of the attorneys from their firm, until John brought up the rear.

"Are you ready for Christmas, Mr. Bates?"

The dark-haired man nodded. "I think so. We still have some wrapping to do. Thank you for hiding most of the presents at your house – Poppy's been looking all over for them." He sighed as they walked into the main lobby. "I thought having two children would mean double the presents, but it's more like they've quadrupled."

"Blame their grandparents for that," Charles said. Perhaps he and Elsie (and Margaret) were spoiling the children a _little_ , but they wouldn't have it any other way.

He looked in on Elsie before going into his office. She glanced at him, looking over her glasses.

"The hearing didn't last long. Judge Harrison must have been in a generous mood."

"He was," he leaned over her desk. "Part of the Christmas spirit, I suppose. I'll take it." He meant to kiss her lightly on the cheek, but she turned her head and pressed her lips to his.

"Now get away with ye," she murmured after a lingering kiss, followed by another. "I have a lot of work to do before we leave today. And heaven knows I won't get _any_ of it done with you in here."

"Likewise," Charles said in a strangled voice. He straightened up and went into his office.

After a brief meeting with Phyllis, he worked steadily for another hour. It was just coming up to ten o'clock when he heard a door fly open. Cora, struggling into her coat, flew down the stairs without looking back.

Charles frowned. He had become more lenient when it came to attorneys or staff leaving in the middle of the day (except for his recent bout of inhumanity), but it was out of character for Cora to not at least say something to him.

He bent over his computer, cross-checking the motion he wrote with the notes from the case file.

"Carson? May we come in?" Robert stood in the doorway, Mary right beside him. Charles knew instantly something was wrong. Mary was white as a sheet; Robert's face was ashen.

"Of course," he said quickly, motioning for Robert to close the door. The two sat down in the chairs next to his desk. Mary's hands were folded, and she stared off into space. Robert put a hand on Charles's desk as if to steady himself.

"Carson…Michael Gregson is dead."

Whatever Charles thought Robert was going to say, it wasn't that. His mouth fell open in shock. Sitting stunned for several moments, he cleared his throat. _Dead…Mr. Gregson…impossible…how?_

"What…what _happened?_ "

"You might…have seen something on the news earlier," Robert was breathing heavily, struggling to get words out. "A terrorist attack in Rotterdam early this morning. A suicide bomber…"

" _No_ ," Charles exclaimed. "Oh _God_." He leaned on his elbows on his desk. "But…how do you know he was one of the victims…"

"Because he was meeting a friend who was going to take him to the airport," Robert said. Mary put a hand on his arm and he squeezed it. "Jeroen was across the street. He saw Michael outside the café where they were meeting. The bomber was right next to him…"

Robert's voice cracked on the last word. Charles sat forward and covered his face with his hands. The horror of the moment was palpable. He had not known Edith's partner well, but the editor had always been genial and kind. And he had helped Charles and Elsie in their difficult predicament with Edna. _Was that less than a year ago, it feels like ages. Dear God, what Edith will be going through. And Marigold, to grow up without a parent._

 _Like Sybbie._

"Police officers told Edith at work. She called us first, then Rosamund, since the city office is so close to the magazine, as you remember," Robert said, his voice raspy. Charles nodded, unable to speak. "My sister's already there." He broke down and cried, something he hadn't done since Sybil died.

"If there is any comfort in it," Mary said thickly, "it's that we know he didn't suffer." Her red-rimmed eyes met Charles's. She took a tissue out of the box on Charles's bookshelf ( _Elsie's idea, I'm glad she insisted on it now_ ) and dabbed at her eyes. "Carson," she swallowed, "Matthew is getting plane tickets for Edith, himself and Aunt Rosamund right now. He has contacts in Europe and will help get Michael's…remains home." She touched her father's shoulder. Robert collected himself and sat up in the chair.

"Cora's gone to get Marigold. Normally, I know we'd work out an arrangement when we're taking off work, but-"

Charles stood up, waving his hands. "No need to ask my permission. Go. Forget about work, we'll manage. Be with your daughter and granddaughter. They will need you now, more than ever," he said softly. The two stood up. Charles looked at his goddaughter.

"Go get George," he said quietly, knowing that look. "Your family is the most important thing right now." She nodded. He could see the relief in her eyes. The door cracked open. It was Matthew.

"I've got the tickets," he inched in the door and closed it. "A flight to New York late this afternoon, then the overnight to Rotterdam."

Charles reached out and put his hand on Robert's arm. "Please tell Edith Elsie and I send her our condolences," he said. "If there is anything we can do, let us know."

"Thank you," Robert wiped his face with a handkerchief. "Actually, there is something you can do." He sighed, closing his eyes. "I am sorry to ask you to do this again on behalf of my family, but could you tell the staff here? Mama and Isobel know, Rosamund told them, so I expect everyone in our city office knows about it by now."

"They do," Matthew confirmed, his arm around Mary. He looked directly at Charles. "Tom rang and said he was going to pick up Sybbie."

"As he should," Charles said. "Yes, I will tell the staff." The Crawleys left his office quietly. He walked over to the door and closed it behind them, breathing deeply.

 _Gone. Just like that._

He made up his mind in an instant. Stepping over to his desk phone, he hit the button for the city office, then an extension. Thankfully, she picked up.

"Isobel?" he said. "Robert's just told me. I am so very sorry."

"All of our sympathies are with Edith and Marigold right now," she said, the sadness heavy in her voice. "Carson, Violet and I made the decision to close the office. She and I are leaving, and Rosamund's already gone-"

"You made the right decision," he said quickly. "We'll talk over the weekend. Go be with your family." After hanging up the phone with Isobel, he took one breath, then hit another button for the office next door.

"I need you." He could feel his resolve breaking.

She could hear it in his voice. "I'll be right there."

Seven seconds later, there was a light tap on the door and Elsie came in, her expression worried. Without a word, he walked over to her and put his arms around her.

He breathed in the scent of shampoo that she used, the feel of his wife in his arms. She held him as he cried without knowing what gave him pain. When he was able to speak, it was his turn to hold her. Her face went white.

"Oh my God," she whispered, tears running down her face. "Dear Edith and Marigold – how terrible."

Charles rubbed her back and kissed her head. She tried to turn her face away so she wouldn't get his suit jacket wet, but he held her closer. "Don't worry about it love," he whispered. "Not now. It'll wash."

Elsie managed to collect herself, sitting in the chair Robert had vacated. Charles rang downstairs. "Anna," he said almost sounding normal, "Page everyone to meet in the conference room in five minutes. Put the reception phones on night ring so you can come as well. No exceptions, I want _everyone_ in there."

"Yes, Mr. Carson." Anna's voice was heard over the intercom within seconds.

They all met in the conference room, some sitting at the table, the rest crowding along the walls. There were gasps and cries of disbelief when Charles told them. He spoke quickly, wanting to get the message out as fast as possible.

"As the names of the dead have not yet been released in the press, I strongly urge all of you not to do so on social media, or with those outside this firm. When Edith decides to inform those outside her immediate circle, then you may speak about it. But if Mr. Gregson's name appears in the media because someone at this firm was indiscrete, then that person will no longer be an employee here. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a general murmur of agreement and nods around the room.

"Good. One more thing." He glanced at Elsie at his left, gripping her hand tighter. "This is a day of deep sadness, similar to one that most of us experienced a few years ago." He saw Anna crying, John with his arm around her. Thomas, his face pale. "This office will close for the day. I expect all of you to spend time with those you love. For none of us knows when it will be our last day. That is all."

It was not until they had all filed out of the room that he realized he had been holding Elsie's hand the entire time.

He didn't care.

0000000000

Elsie felt almost overcome by the horror of what had happened. When she regained some control over her emotions, the only thing she wanted to do was be with her family.

She and Charles left the office, went home and changed their clothes, then drove to Becky's home with Pepper.

"She won't be expecting us, not in the middle of the day," Elsie said as they walked up the sidewalk to the front door. "But she'll be happy to see us, I'm sure." Charles pulled a little on Pepper's leash to keep her from wandering into the mulch.

"As we are to see her," he said. He hoped they could set aside their shock during their visit.

Becky was indeed very happy to see them. Her caretaker Melissa was a little confused, but was reassured by their explanation of an impromptu afternoon off. The three had lunch together, then at Becky's insistence they took Pepper for a walk. The sun had come out. Elsie walked with her arm linked through her little sister's, grateful for the opportunity to spend time with her. They laughed at Charles, who tried to get Pepper to fetch a stick.

The puppy was more interested in jumping on him than anything else.

After their walk, they spent time in the cafeteria drinking hot chocolate and playing Becky's favorite games. Charles lost to his sister four times playing Candy Land, then both he and Elsie were slaughtered when they switched to Go Fish.

They stayed through dinner right up until Becky had to go to bed.

The ride home was quiet. Elsie wanted to talk about what had happened, but the impact of the news earlier in the day impacted her physically. She yawned as they went into the house.

"Tired?"

"Yes," she blinked in the sudden light in the kitchen. Charles got Pepper's food out of the cabinet and put some in her dish.

"You should go to bed," he said gently. "I'll be along soon, too."

When she got into the bedroom, she could not muster the energy to undress. She kicked her shoes off and crawled under the blankets fully dressed. Her mind raced.

 _Poor Edith. I could not imagine…they expected Michael home tonight, and they'll never see him again._

 _That's not true._

She turned her head into the pillow, letting the hot tears soak into the cover.

 _Charles had nightmares that I never existed. As much as I sympathized, I did not understand._

It wasn't that she had underestimated what he had felt; the past few weeks made that impossible. But a part of her had not understood his fear, _really_ understood it the way he had described it to her.

The thought that she could lose him in an instant, _like that_ , one moment here, the next not, was something that she had understood on a cerebral level. But now it was in her heart, like a splinter she couldn't reach.

 _He is older than me. Most likely he will die before me. And I will be alone._

She knew she was a part of him, and he of her, that in a certain way they never would be apart. But she couldn't stop thinking of a coffin with him in it. Friends and family murmuring sympathy, words of comfort.

The vision of herself in black, standing looking down at his motionless body, was unbearable.

 _All this time he's said he is weak. That he could not imagine living without me._

 _I cannot live without him._

Elsie was terrified at the thought. All her life, she had been a strong woman. Independent. Able to care for herself and others. Now, less than a year removed from their marriage, she felt a certain vulnerability. Like standing in a skyscraper in front of a window, and it suddenly vanishing.

 _Maybe you never were that strong. Maybe you were only because you had to be._

 _You're one of those women who marries and then becomes dependent on her husband._

"No," she huffed into her pillow, turning over. Surely she was made of sterner stuff than that. _If I was younger, like Edith or Tom, it would be different. I'd find the will to carry on. But now…_

Life without Charles Carson felt like looking into a dark chasm.

She thought of the irony of the situation – Charlie, opening up and going to therapy, while she resisted introspection, thinking she didn't need it.

She started laughing, then crying. She didn't hear her husband come into the bedroom.

"Elsie?"

She sobbed into her pillow, not able to put into words what she felt.

Charles slipped his shoes off and climbed in next to her. "Shhh, lass," he whispered, drawing her into his arms. "I know. To lose someone like that, it's…horrible. A shock."

Elsie lifted her head from his chest, her tears dripping onto his shirt. "I can't lose you," she said. "I can't. Not like that…" Part of her didn't want to say it. But she could not stop herself. She gripped his shirt, feeling his warmth. "Please don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, brushing his fingers across her face, wiping her tears.

"God, I'm a mess…" she groaned, crying harder. _What must he think of me? He thought he married a strong, self-sufficient woman._

 _Instead, he married a closeted basket case._

"Yes, but you're _my_ mess," he said. He smoothed his hands over her hair. His tone made her giggle in the midst of her sobs.

"I think _I_ need therapy."

"Well, if you want to go, I know a doctor. My wife encouraged me to go…" she looked up, a watery grin on her face. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling softly. His expression grew a little more serious. "It's all right to tell me that you don't want me to leave you," he said. "I know you don't, and I don't want to either, but we need to talk about it. Especially now."

She lay back against him, her ear over his heart. _Thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum._

"Elspeth May, you are not weak," he rumbled. "Never think that. You love your husband. And I love you," he whispered, his lips tickling her hairline.

"I love you, Charlie," she said. She sniffed, wiping her face clear. "I'm sorry I was emotional-"

He turned onto his side, his arm around her. " _Never_ apologize for that. Never."

She put a hand over his heart, unable to look him in the face. "I always want to be strong for you," she said in a small voice. "You deserve that, someone who helps you, not a burden."

"Elsie," he said, in a voice that brooked no nonsense, "You have shared my burdens for over twenty years. If you start sharing _yours_ with me, which is my right, then we might be on a more level playing field." He pulled her closer into an embrace. "Let me help you the way you've helped me. We're married, this is what we do. You'll always be an independent woman, and I love that about you. But let me help carry your burdens. You are not alone. I'm here, love."

"I know," she choked out, a lump in her throat. "But if something happens to you, I can't fall apart. It's not fair to think like that, not after I've been telling you to stay strong."

"It is completely fair," he argued. "Neither one of us knows how the other would react in the event of death. What _is_ unfair is setting some sort of emotional cap on what you would feel in a situation that hasn't happened."

Elsie could not argue with that. They talked for a while longer before preparing for bed.

Robert texted Charles, telling him that Edith, Matthew and Rosamund had left on the flight to Rotterdam from New York. Marigold did not fully understand, he thought, but when she did, they would be there to help her.

Charles leaned over as Elsie climbed back into bed after brushing her teeth. "Look at this picture." Under the caption of 'Two Sleeping Girls', were Cora and Marigold asleep.

Even though her chest felt tight, Elsie smiled. "Poor wee girl. At least she has a loving mother and family to look after her." She pursed her lips. "And you, Charlie. She took quite a shine to you the last time she stayed here."

"Mmmm, she did," he agreed, turning the light off. They snuggled in the darkness. "We'll have to have her over sometime next year – not soon, I'm sure Edith will want to keep her close by for a good while, but sometime."

"I think she would like that. I know I would," Elsie said. She moved slightly, kissing Charles. He held her in place, his warm hands caressing her lower back. Their kissing grew more heated. Elsie broke away.

"We shouldn't," she said, laying back against her pillow. Charles stroked her arm.

"Why ever not?" He was not upset, just confused. She glanced at his outline, the shadow of him in the dark room.

"Because…because Michael Gregson is…is _dead_ ," she bit her lip, not really knowing why she felt it was wrong. Somehow it felt disrespectful.

He rubbed her shoulder. "Yes," he said, still confused. "Well, if you don't want to, good night." He turned fully onto his side, waiting for her to move next to him.

She stared at the ceiling. "The thing is…I _do_ want to. But it feels wrong to want…sex now."

Pulling her close again, Charles whispered in her ear. "If you want it, then there is nothing wrong with it." He kissed her slowly, feeling the contours of her mouth against his. He smiled when she hummed. "Today has been a sad day," he acknowledge, "but it doesn't change the fact that you and I, _we_ -we are _alive_." Giving her one last kiss, he abruptly moved backwards away from her. She lay still for a full minute, then reached for him.

"Charlie?" Her sultry voice made him shiver.

"Hmmm?"

Elsie slid her hand from his shoulder up to his face, her thumb parting his lips. "Make love to me."

They moved together slowly, savoring each other. There was no rush. When he entered her waiting warmth, she hooked her legs around his, drawing him deeper. He breathed her name as they kissed. Every touch, every thrust, brought them closer. He came first, pouring into her. Licking her nipples into hardened peaks, he teased her into her own release. She cried out and then cried in his arms. He kissed her repeatedly, reassuring her of his presence.

Grief cast its shadow, but they were gloriously alive.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Bad news first…this story is going on hiatus for a while. I have several things on my plate right now, and simply don't have the mental energy to keep this up as well. I am NOT forgetting about this. It is not finished, and I still have many ideas for it. But it will be awhile before I get back to it. I'm sorry.**

 **The good news is hopefully this chapter will help you all forgive me. It's by far the longest chapter I've ever written, and probably borders on crackfic at a certain point, but it was tremendous fun to write.**

 **-The dress Elsie is wearing is what her alter ego wore to the SAG awards a couple of days ago. She also wore it to the BAFTAs in 2015, I think.**

 **-The rap lyrics they briefly hear are from Ludacris, from the song "Tonight (I'm Lovin' You), by Enrique Iglesias.**

 **Your enthusiasm and love for this give me life! Please review if you have time. I love you all.**

 **-meetmeinstlouie**

 **December 2016**

Michael Gregson's funeral mass was held only days before Christmas, in the Roman Catholic cathedral in the city. The huge building was packed full, with the attorneys and staff from Carson, Crawley & Bates sitting behind Edith and her family. However, Charles and Elsie were asked to sit nearer the front. For there being so many people, it was almost eerily quiet. Throughout the service, Marigold moved from one relative's lap to the other, saying nothing, often with her thumb in her mouth.

She climbed onto Charles's lap during the homily, much to his surprise. Staying there until the end, she then willingly went back to her mother's arms. Edith mouthed a tearful thank you to the managing partner. He simply nodded in reply, his own eyes red. Sybbie had followed her cousin, and had sat quietly next to Elsie for most of the mass.

The Carsons drove home after the burial and collapsed in exhausted grief.

* * *

Christmas Eve, the first anniversary of their engagement, was a Saturday. They spent much of the day underneath the covers of their wide bed. While Elsie showered and dressed late in the afternoon, Charles sneaked next door to the Beasley's. He had for many years helped Pete with different surprises for Sharon, and was glad his neighbor was eager to return the favor.

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble," Charles said in the corridor by the open front door. Pete shook his head.

"Not at all. Thanks for keeping Sharon's gift for me, she would have found it weeks ago otherwise. Merry Christmas, Charlie. To you and Elsie."

"Merry Christmas. Give Sharon our best wishes," Charles replied, "and thank you again."

He set Elsie's gift before their lit Christmas tree, making sure Pepper behaved herself. She sniffed at it curiously, but trotted into the kitchen when he called her. He hurried to set the table for their dinner. Homemade chicken noodle soup, fresh bread, the red velvet cake. He poured two glasses of wine. Hearing Elsie come out of the bedroom, he strode into the living room and stood nervously by the tree, picking up Pepper.

Elsie smiled at the sight of her husband as she put in her second earring. Pepper wore a green bow around her neck. "My, the two of you look festive!"

Charles smiled tentatively. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Carson."

It was then she looked down and saw the open box in front of the tree. Inside was a black cat with a red bow around his neck. Her mouth fell open.

Tears came to her eyes. "Is-is that for _me_?" she squeaked.

"Yes, he's yours. If you want him," Charles said, worried. Pepper had been the perfect gift for him after their wedding, and he so badly hoped he had done the same for his wife.

Elsie leaned over the box and picked up the cat. Charles thanked God that the animal chose that precise moment to purr. She nuzzled her cheek against his head. "Oh Charlie, he's _perfect_. _Thank_ you," she whispered, her eyes glistening.

She adored Pepper, but always remembered she had given the dog to Charles. Of course the puppy belonged to the both of them now, but Charles and Pepper had a special bond. She held the cat close, stroking his soft fur.

The puppy in Charles's arms growled. He looked down at her, stifling a laugh. "Someone's jealous." He looked up again at Elsie. "She didn't seem to mind him much before, just more curious than anything."

Elsie walked over to him and kissed Pepper's head. "Your mam hasn't forgotten about you. Not ever," she shifted the cat in her arms. "Where did you get him?"

"The shelter. He's two years old. No name, so you'll have to think of one," Charles's heart swelled at Elsie's obvious delight. She bounced up on her toes and gave him a lingering kiss.

"Maybe I'll name him Charlie Junior, after his da," she whispered against his lips. He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm flattered, but please don't."

The rest of the holidays went by quietly. They spent almost all of Christmas Day with Becky before going to John and Anna's for dinner. New Years' Eve was at Beryl and Bill's once again, and they saw their friends hours later when the Masons came over the next afternoon.

In the wake of what 2016 had brought, they wanted to spend time with those they loved as much as possible.

* * *

 **Mid-January 2017**

Charles poked his head into Elsie's office a little past 11:30. "Do you have a minute?"

She turned, taking her glasses off. He swallowed. _Does she know how sexy she looks when she does that?_

"Erm," he struggled to regain his concentration. "I…I was just talking to Robert. About the conference at the end of the month."

She frowned. "Did something go wrong with his reservation? Phyllis sent me the confirmation email back in November…" she started to turn back to her computer.

"No, it's not that," he soothed her. "He doesn't want to go, and I agree with him."

"Why? He always goes, well most years," she said, confused. "You went once."

He drummed his fingers on her desk, smiling at the picture of Pepper and Spike. _Our furry children._ "It's Edith. And Marigold," he said softly. "He and Cora have been looking after them since…" he did not have to finish. He cleared his throat. "Robert feels that he's needed more at home. He doesn't want to take any overnight trips for at least several more months."

"That's as it should be," Elsie agreed, understanding. Truth be told, she was impressed. She remembered the early years at the firm well. She sometimes wondered if Robert ever saw his children. _With age comes wisdom._

 _He doesn't want to make the same mistakes. I'm glad he understands that now._

"Well, if you're worried about him canceling," she said, "It can be done. It's less than two weeks away though, so the firm won't get the deposit back. I can ring the hotel and get the reservation canceled. That won't be a problem."

"You don't have to cancel, not yet," Charles said, scratching his neck. "You see, _I_ was thinking of going."

"Oh," her eyes widened. She gave him a small smile. "Well, I'd miss you while you were away, of course, but if you think that's the best solution-"

"Would you come with me?"

She smiled at the grin curving the corner of his lip. "Mr. Carson," she said, a knowing spark in her eye. He was positive she put extra emphasis on the r on purpose. "You know as well as I do that the end of January is one of my busiest times of the year. Surely as managing partner, you understand how important it is for your office manager to have her work done well."

 _Two can play that game._ "I do understand. But Mrs. Carson," he replied, raising his eyebrows, "As the managing partner here, I must tell you there would be advantages to attending the conference that you would not enjoy here."

"Do tell me, please," she sat back, crossing her legs, her grey skirt exposing her ankle. Her elbow rested on the arm of her chair, her finger on her cheek.

 _Minx._

He sat down across from her, making sure to sit up straight, his hands folded.

"First," he began in his most professional tone, "The only year I attended the conference, I made the mistake of leaving my overcoat at home. And you know how silly _that_ is in January. My long-suffering office manager drove six hours round-trip to bring it to me. I would very much like to avoid her wrath in forgetting anything of importance." He smiled in remembrance of her standing in the hotel lobby with his coat. _I will remember that moment forever._

"Second, there is a ball held for the attorneys and their partners on Saturday night. It is a formal affair, one which requires suitable dress, not everyday office wear." He knew how much she liked to "glam up", as she put it, and how little chances she actually got to do it.

"And finally, and most importantly," he dropped his voice to a low timbre, "your husband will make sure you enjoy every moment outside of his scheduled events. I daresay your bed will be cold at home without him."

Any thought she had had of saying something polished in response left her.

 _Damn._

"Well," she said, licking her suddenly dry lips, "those are certainly advantages that I will have to consider."

"Please do," he stood up, buttoning his jacket. "And if you're worried about the staff having to pick up extra work, you shouldn't. I already spoke with Phyllis and Beryl. They said they can handle you being out of the office for two days."

During lunch, Elsie pressed her friends for the truth. "If it is too much work for you, I _won't_ go," she said. She felt much more confident when not in the presence of Charles. H _e knows what that voice does to me._

Phyllis and Beryl looked at each other, incredulous. Anna rolled her eyes.

"You're unbelievable! We're offering to help you, and it's like you're looking for excuses _not_ to go!"

"I am not!" Elsie protested, stung. "I simply want to make sure I am not burdening you all to benefit myself!"

"At least you're admitting there would be benefits to going with your husband," Beryl mumbled, her tone clear. Elsie glared at her.

"It's not about _that_ , I need to think about my _job_ as well."

"Cora's gone with Mr. Crawley more than once," Phyllis reminded her.

"Cora is not the office manager!"

"No, but she's taken the opportunity to go with her husband when the moment presented itself," Anna argued. "If you must know, when Mr. Crawley said he didn't want to go, John offered to go in his place. Mr. Carson shot that down immediately. He said it was more important for him to be close to me and the children. I'll have to thank him for that – Sebastian's going through another growth spurt, and we're both knackered." She stirred her coffee.

"I didn't know that," Elsie said, calming down. "About Sebastian yes, not what Mr. Carson said."

"All we're trying to say," Phyllis said softly, "is that it's more important for you to be Mr. Carson's wife right now, not his office manager."

Elsie could not argue with that. She poked at the remains of her salad. "It just seems wrong for me to leave and go off for my own amusement." _And for his_ , she didn't say, but she didn't have to.

Beryl put her hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong with going with him once? It's likely next year Robert will want to go again. You may not get another opportunity." She playfully nudged her friend. "Go. It'll give us a good reason to look for a nice dress for you."

"And if you're that worried about the work, you can always take your laptop," Phyllis said reasonably. "And we can still have our Friday morning meeting, just via Skype. Technology does make a lot of things easier." A mischievous gleam appeared in her eye. "But not if you want to have _actual_ sex."

"Phyllis!" Anna spluttered out her sip of coffee, laughing. Beryl howled.

"Thank you, Mrs. Molesley, for that reminder," Elsie said, fighting a grin before giving in and laughing with them.

She informed the managing partner that afternoon that she would go. He was delighted.

* * *

It was a frigid Wednesday night when they arrived at the hotel. The conference had opened with a cocktail hour earlier that evening, but Charles had chosen to skip it. He and Elsie had left later in the evening due to having dinner with Becky before they left town.

Bill texted a picture of Pepper and Spike with the caption "Have fun!". He and Beryl were looking after the two pets while their humans were away. The Masons were also planning to visit Becky on Saturday.

On Thursday morning, Charles awoke to the sound of the alarm on his phone as usual. He fumbled for it in the dark. Listening to the sounds of the big hotel were unlike waking up at home. A soft groan reached his ears, and a sleepy Scottish lilt mumbled, "What time is it?"

He couldn't help but smile, wrapping his arms again around his wife. Kissing her bare shoulder, he breathed in her lavender scent. _Not everything is unfamiliar._ "Not quite a quarter-past six. I have time," he kept his voice low as not to wake her too abruptly.

She was not fully awake, but his distinctive rumble vibrated by her ear, waking her body. "Good," she murmured, pulling his hands up from her belly to cup her breasts. She let out a little moan when he nuzzled her neck.

 _It's just as well neither one of us put on our nightclothes._

He caressed her nipples in between his fingers gently, relishing the sounds she was making. God, she was luscious early in the morning. Any time of the day. Her slow movement of her bum against his manhood elicited a groan from him. _Mmmm, waking up nicely._ He left numerous kisses on her neck, the spot below her ear, and trailed a hand down her belly, her abdomen, into the coarse, curly hair above her sex. She writhed against him, trying to turn.

"Charlie…" she gasped, his fingers searching through her folds. His touch was ever-so light, so soft. Relentless. "Oh god, touch me, _more_ -" she choked, loving the feeling of his hands on her, his breath at the back of her neck.

She reached down, her fingers with his, feeling her wetness. She arched against him, crying out when their thumbs met over her nub. He circled it slowly, her fingers beneath his. Her gasping breath became panting became a rush of Gaelic and English, loving endearments and swearing. Moving of their own accord, her hips thrust forward, then backwards against him.

Still he teased her higher. His hand moved faster, pressing harder. He never wanted to stop, wanted to please her even as his own body begged for release. To hear her cries, feel her come undone beneath his hands was what he loved. The tip of his index finger pressed into her. Two fingers. He curved them with the angle of her body.

Keening, she shattered against him. Her fingers trapped beneath his, pressed against the source of her pleasure. The intensity made her shudder. He was _marvelous_ , her man, her lover.

When she came down, she whispered into his cheek, turning her head. "Take them out…slowly," she panted. He did so, his own breath erratic. She held his hand over her abdomen for several minutes, beginning to move once again against him. In no time he was hard against her.

"Elsie," he moaned into her hair.

"Now," she breathed. She turned in his arms, kissing him deeply on the mouth. " _A ghraidh_ , I want you, now, _now_ ," she half-gasped, half-moaned at the sensation of his thick warmth between her legs. She rolled onto her back, him with her.

He let out a groan when he entered her. "God, Els," he panted. He started slowly, but she was having none of it.

" _Faster_ ," she gasped. "More, please, oh god _yes_ -"

Thrusting harder, faster, his hips meeting hers as they moved together. He lost rhythm. "God, _yes_ -" he lost the ability to speak when she came again, her voice loud. He came only moments later, roaring as she tightened around him. She was amazing, his Elsie, crying out, spurring him on. He slammed into her, spilling himself inside. Beyond grateful that she _wanted_ him like this.

He pushed into her with one last thrust as far as he could go. Until they could not, physically, be any closer. He wrapped her in his arms, her head against his shoulder. Holding her to him. Her arms were strong around his shoulders.

Gasping for breath, they lay together. They kissed hungrily, mouths, lips, tongues tasting each other. Exchanging wordless love. He knew she liked him to stay inside her as long as possible, doing so until his body forced them to separate.

Flopping onto his back, he stared at the ceiling, still breathing hard. "This is the best conference I've ever attended," he rasped.

She laughed, running a hand down his chest. "And you've yet to _go_ to anything yet." She slid over to him and kissed him on the cheek. He took her hand from his chest and kissed it, fingering her ring.

"Doesn't matter. You, my darling, make this the best with your mere presence."

* * *

They sat together at breakfast downstairs. Nothing gave away their early morning tryst, except perhaps the color on his face. And how she smiled, shifting in her seat across the little table from him, her foot brushing his calf.

"Until you told me about it, I was not aware there was a ball Saturday night," she said, sipping her tea. "When you came here the last time, didn't you leave Friday afternoon?"

"Yes I did," he finished his oatmeal, pleased that she remembered. "Robert usually stays through Saturday, but he's much more social than I. And the one time I attended, I had somewhere much more important to be Friday evening."

She smiled brightly. "I knew you felt something for me when I brought your coat, and you told me you'd be home in time for Pedro's."

Not caring how mushy it sounded, he leaned forward. "I've long preferred your company to anyone else's." He sighed, fingering his spoon. "If only I hadn't taken years to let you know. That was five years ago," he said softly. "When I was last here."

"Charles, don't," she reached for his hand. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, looking pensive.

"I try not to regret the time we've lost. But sometimes it comes back."

Elsie squeezed his hand. "If my being here now makes up for it even a little, then I'm glad I came." A roguish grin spread on Charles's face.

"You came _twice_ this morning, darling," he said in a low voice, raising his eyebrows.

"Shhhhh!" she gestured, her face flaming. She glanced around to see if anyone near them had heard him. "You are _incorrigible_ , Charles Carson!"

"And you love me, Elsie Carson." His shoulders shook as he laughed. She let go of his hand and sat back against her chair, folding her arms. Shaking her head, she couldn't stop herself from smiling anyway.

"Fortunately."

He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and sighed. "I'm sorry I can't stay with you longer, but I have to go. It's almost eight."

They got up from the table and left the restaurant, exiting into the lobby. "I'll see you this afternoon, before dinner," she said. "Oh wait a moment, the collar of your jacket's turned the wrong way-"

He stood still and let her nimble fingers make him look presentable. "How do I look now?"

She pulled his cuffs, made sure his tie was straight. Both were well aware most of her fussing was just an excuse to touch him. "My handsome man," she murmured, her eyes soft. He leaned over and kissed her.

"I love you," he said, before walking into a nearby ballroom where the first session was to be held.

* * *

Thursday was a full day, even away from the office. Elsie did several hours' work in their room, leaving only to grab lunch. She was glad to be able to get some work done. Charles texted her throughout the day, before meeting her when the afternoon session was finished. That evening, they went out to dinner with several attorneys and their partners.

The conference was held in a city near the border of three states, making it one of the largest in that area of the country. Elsie was blown away to hear that the reputation of Carson, Crawley & Bates had spread far beyond what she ever knew.

"You should be proud," she told Charles as they returned to their room. "All the work you've done over the last thirty years – it's a credit to you and the quality of your work." Her eyes shone, her arm linked through his. He turned to face her in front of their door.

"The credit belongs just as much to you as it does me," he said, touching her cheek. "Without your contribution, the firm would never have gotten as far as it has. I owe you _everything_ , Elsie." He swept her into a hug, not letting go for several moments. When he did, she was surprised and a little concerned to see tears in his eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked, keeping a firm grip on him.

"Perfectly so," he reassured her. He smiled, looking down at their joined hands. "The best part about hearing so much praise tonight is that _you_ heard it, too. It's as just as much for you as it is for me."

"I was glad to hear it, for your sake," she said. "But I think you're denying yourself the full glory – Robert may bring in clients, and John works very hard of course, but you are the foundation of the firm. I have little to do with it," she opened the door into their room.

It wasn't that she begrudged her own contribution; she knew how much she was valued by those she worked with. And she knew how much Charles appreciated her work. But she doubted she would be remembered in the future. Office managers seldom were. It was enough for her to know the firm, his _name_ , would survive long after both of them were retired and gone.

Charles helped her out of her winter coat. "You're wrong," he said, so quietly he wasn't sure she heard him. She turned as he hung her coat in the closet. From the look in her eye, she had.

"Get away with you," she said, trying to brush off the remark. He wished she wouldn't belittle her professional worth.

 _I have to make her understand._ "You say I am the foundation of the firm. Well, yes, I suppose on paper." He reached for her hand. "But from the first day you started as office manager, I knew I could trust you with everything there. I could concentrate on the law, on the business side. Don't you see? _You_ are the foundation of our success. The firm's success is due much more to _you_ than it is to any of us stuffy lawyers. We've only been the public face of things. The whole operation would have collapsed without you. Even some of the others tonight acknowledged that." He pulled her into his arms, his head resting on hers.

"I was only doing my job," she said into his chest. It was still difficult for her to acknowledge praise, but she was trying. "But thank you. I was fortunate enough to have good colleagues and a wonderful managing partner." She laughed quietly. "I was under the impression that some of our companions tonight thought we had been _official_ partners for much longer than in reality."

He told her of his last visit to the conference, after she had taken him his coat. "They all thought you were my wife then," he kissed the top of her head. "I didn't contradict them. It gives me more joy than I can possibly express to have you here with me now, to introduce you as my wife and know that it's _true_."

"Charlie," she whispered, her arms around him. Her heart gave a leap as she hugged him tighter. She derived just as much happiness in seeing him as her husband.

"That's partly why I was so thrilled when you decided to come with me," he said. "Well, and…just being together, of course. But Elsie," he pushed her back a little, to look her in the face. "Your surname being Carson now means your success is tied to mine. Whenever anyone hears of the firm, they will think of you just as much as they think of me. And don't even try to contradict me," he warned her in a mock-serious voice. She played with the lapels of his coat.

"I won't. Not now, anyway," she gave him a cheeky grin. "I remember bringing you this coat. I was in love with you then," she said softly, looking up, her breath tickling his face. She giggled at the memory. "Like some lovesick girl, when I stopped on the way to fill up my car, I put my face by your collar and smelled it. It had your scent, you see."

"That explains it," he said, his eyes widening.

"Explains what?"

"After you gave it to me and left, I went with some of the others to dinner. I _smelled_ you, your perfume. I thought I was going mad!" His face softened into a smile. "But I liked it. It was like having you near me."

She burst out laughing, a bubbly sound. "What a pair we are!"

"A pair of old boobies," he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. She reached up and pulled him closer, her hand behind his neck.

"As much as I like this coat, you need to take it off," she muttered when they finally broke apart. Her eyes were dark. "And _everything_ else."

He gave her one more searing kiss, enjoying her soft moan when he teased her mouth open. "Anything for you, Mrs. Carson."

* * *

Friday passed much like the day before. Elsie worked through most of the day while Charles was in the various sessions. Her Skype meeting with Phyllis, Beryl and Anna went well, though she had to dodge a few too many inappropriate remarks from all of them over how busy she was.

"Pepper's been a dream," Beryl reassured her after the meeting was over. "And that crazy cat of yours, Spike, takes after you. He tried to attack the vacuum cleaner last night, then jumped from my kitchen counter, knocking over the flour! I thought Bill was going to get a hernia from laughing!"

Elsie was delighted to hear their fur babies were doing well. She recounted the story to Charles that afternoon. He had just changed into his swimming trunks. Laughing, he pulled a polo shirt over his head.

"Typical," he said, chuckling. "Pepper behaves herself, like _me_ , and Spike is the troublemaker-"

"Oh, go soak your head in the pool," Elsie pretended to be hurt. "The sooner you get your swim in, the sooner we can go to dinner."

But he was gone barely fifteen minutes. When he came back he was still dry, though irritated to the point of a temper.

"A beautiful large pool like that, perfect for doing laps! And what did I find?" He raked his hand through his hair in exasperation. "Full of screaming kids! In town for a basketball tournament this weekend, apparently. One of the parents told me."

Elsie suppressed a grin, biting her lip. "You can hardly expect children to stay away from a tempting pool, especially in the dead of winter," she said, trying to calm him.

"I suppose so," he sighed heavily. "But I did want to swim while we were away, even if it was just once."

"Well, let's go to dinner and maybe you'll have a chance after."

But when they came back, they went to the top floor where the indoor pool was, only to find it still mostly occupied. To Elsie's disappointment, the hot tub was full as well.

"Too bad," she shook her head as they got back on the elevator. "But I can hardly say I'm surprised. The weather is clear, and with that glass ceiling, everyone can look at the stars."

"Hmmm," Charles mumbled, only a hint of a growl in his voice. "It will be full until ten, when the manager locks the door. I should have gone early this morning."

"I'm sorry," Elsie apologized. Charles put his arm around her waist.

"What for? It's not your fault the pool is popular."

"No," she leaned into him, "but it _is_ my fault you didn't get a chance to swim this morning."

He kissed the side of her head. "Love, I didn't exactly tell you _no_."

On Saturday, Charles only had three sessions to attend. The last ended in mid-afternoon, with enough time for those attending the ball and dinner to prepare.

"You go ahead and get ready first. I'll take longer." Elsie said when he came up to the room.

"Why?" he took off his suit jacket and hung it up in the closet. "Shouldn't you go first, then? To have more time to prepare?" She sighed, sitting down on the bed.

"No. You'll be ready in no time, and I'll have to do my hair as well. I'm putting it up," she said, fingering the ends.

"If you're sure," he said. She nodded, and he went into the large bathroom.

They could have showered together, he thought, but that always made them late. As tempting as it was in that marvelous space with the rain showerhead…

Elsie got up from the bed and went to the closet, taking out the garment bag with her dress in it. She unzipped it slightly, smiling as she caught a glimpse of the shimmering material beneath.

 _I hope he likes it as much as I do._

 _Don't be daft. He will._

Charles was finished getting ready in half an hour. With reassurances from his wife that she would be ready in time, he went downstairs to run an errand before coming back up to the room. The sound of the hairdryer rang from behind the closed bathroom door. He changed into his tuxedo. Briefly, he wondered if it was too much, but knew it was too late to change his mind about it.

"Elsie?" He tapped on the bathroom door. It was quiet.

"Yes?"

"We have to be down in twenty minutes. Are you nearly finished?"

"I'll be out in a minute," her muffled voice carried into the room. "I'm just putting on my necklace."

When she exited, he was standing facing the other way. Looking out the window into the night sky and lights of the city. Her eyes glowed as she took in the sight of her handsome husband, impeccably dressed.

"Are you ready, Mr. Carson?"

He turned and immediately forgot everything else.

 _She is…is…_

Elsie raised her eyebrows slightly. He gaped at her, his mouth hanging open. "Charles?"

Her hair was up, allowing a better view of the shiny drop earrings she wore. The matching necklace perfectly accentuated her neck. And the dress itself shimmered with every movement she made. The short sheer sleeves showing off her shoulders, the white and red beading visible in the black and grey material. Lower on the dress it was all black.

 _It looks like the night sky covered in stars._

He realized he was staring, and forced his mouth closed. He coughed and tried to figure out how to make his tongue work properly. It suddenly felt very warm in the room.

"It…you…it's not fair," he stuttered out.

"Not fair?" she asked, confused. _Oh dear, it's too much. I should have put my foot down with Beryl…_

"How…" he shook his head. The gesture reminded her of someone trying to regain their equilibrium after they had been stunned. "Elsie," he tried again. "You look magnificent. Gorgeous. You are always beautiful to me, but you take my breath away." He smiled at her when she blushed prettily.

"Thank you, Charlie. You look wonderful yourself," she walked over to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. He slid an arm around her back, dipping his head so his forehead touched hers.

"It's not fair to anyone who will see you tonight," he whispered, his breath at her hairline. "No woman will come close to how you look, and every man will wish you were with him."

"I'm with you," she murmured, reaching to straighten his already-straight bow tie. He hummed in reply, not wanting to let go of her. "Anyone who wants me with them will have to be disappointed."

"Thank God," he said, his eyes sparkling. He took a deep breath and pulled back from her. "Shall we go, then?"

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. "I'm ready when you are."

000000000

For the rest of his life, Charles knew, he would remember that night. The two of them exiting the elevator in the lobby and heading towards the designated ballroom. The crowded lobby, filled with both attorneys and their partners lingering, all turning as if on cue to look at them. At _her_. He knew he walked with his shoulders back, his chest puffed out, proud as a peacock.

The wedding party heading to a different ballroom. The bridesmaids and the bride all stopping to compliment his wife. She of course thanked them, and complimented and congratulated the bride. He was thrilled when Elsie introduced him as her husband. He did not miss the gleam in her eye.

Dinner was very pleasant. The atmosphere, despite the formality, was cozy. In the dimmed lights of the ballroom, Elsie kept glancing to her right at their table. At Charles. Compliments and praise were all very nice, but it was knowing that he thought her beautiful that brought a glow to her smile.

They danced after dinner until nearly eleven o'clock. It was not fatigue, nor their companions, that drew them away.

Both only desired the company of each other.

The lobby had quieted from its previous noise. Down the hall, the wedding reception was in full force. Several people came out of it as they passed, the open doors exposing them to a sudden blast of noise. Charles winced at the deafening music.

"I don't see how anyone can like rap. It's hardly music," he said in a loud voice. Elsie squeezed his hand. Some words were clear.

 _You stuck with me_

 _I'm stuck with you_

 _Let's find something to do…*_

Mercifully someone pulled the doors closed. The faint thump of the bass could be detected, but otherwise the only sound were their footsteps on the hard floor. They wandered leisurely toward the elevator.

Elsie was not in a hurry. She enjoyed walking with Charles, hand in hand, relishing his touch and their wordless conversation. She sighed.

"What is it?" he asked, the elevators just around the corner.

"I wish it weren't January," she said. "Then we could go outside to the terrace. I'd say let's go now, but it's _freezing_ outside. We wouldn't last two minutes. Well, I wouldn't," she said, her eyes dancing. "You might, with your tuxedo jacket."

His heart leaped. It wasn't exactly what he had planned, but he decided to go for it.

"I know where we can go," he said, pulling her gently to the elevator. The doors opened right after he hit the up button, and they got on. To her surprise, he hit the highest number.

"Why are we going there? It's locked, we can't get in."

"We'll see," he said mysteriously, a grin playing on his lips.

When they reached the top floor, they got off. The little corridor was dark. Elsie peeked through the glass door.

"Oh, the view is _lovely_ , and it's empty!"

"I know," he said, fishing a key out of his pocket. He stuck it in the door and hit a code. The door unlocked with a loud click. Elsie's mouth fell open.

"How did you get _that_!?"

"Bribery," he said with a straight face, holding the door open. She didn't move, still staring at him. "I talked to the manager earlier this evening. He knows Robert's been coming to the conference for years. The firm's given the hotel a lot of business. I simply asked him for a favor." He raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to go in?"

She walked in, careful to avoid any wet spots.

The pool sat as still as glass. The only lights came from the outline of the room. There was enough to see, but it was not the harsh light that normally lit the area. Their footsteps echoed as they walked to the far side.

Stopping to look up through the glass ceiling, she gasped. The night sky was alight with stars, visible even with the lights of the city around them.

He stood with her, taking in the sight. But one glance at her delighted face redirected his focus.

"Elsie…" he reached out and took her into his arms, brushing his lips across hers. She forgot the heavens above her and slid her hands up his arms. Very quickly their kisses turned passionate.

Sighs and soft moans passed between them. Charles broke away reluctantly to remove his jacket. The room was heated, perhaps too much so, the windows steamed up. He looked back at her after setting his jacket down on a lounge chair, only to find her seated on another. He sat next to her, and they took up where they had left off.

She ran her hands through his hair, down his neck, around his ears. Her heart pounded. She felt languid, but his hands tracing her waist combined with his lips on hers was rapidly changing that. They broke apart, gasping, leaning into each other. Elsie closed her eyes.

Her chest heaved. She knew he knew she was aroused. There was no question he was. But they were all the way on the top floor, and their room was an elevator ride and a walk down a long hallway. A million miles away.

 _I do not want to make love on a lounge chair._

He disentangled her hands from around his neck and stood up. He needed a moment to calm down, and the placid water seemed a peaceful place to look. His body raged. He was wild for her, had wanted her desperately since she stepped out of the bathroom hours ago.

The water…

Two thoughts hit him at once.

 _She would never._

 _Oh, the hell with it. You never know._

Sitting on the edge of a chair, he took his shoes and socks off, then stood again. He removed his shirt and bow tie quickly, tossing them on the same chair as his jacket. They were followed by his undershirt. He was unbuckling his belt when he heard her.

"What…what are you doing?"

He removed his belt and unzipped his trousers. Slipping off one leg, then the other, he carefully laid them down on the chair. "I can't very well swim in a tuxedo."

Her eyes widened. _He_ _ **cannot**_ _be serious._ And yet, there he was, stripped to nothing except his boxers.

Until he removed those, too.

The effects of the previous few minutes was very apparent. His profile, in silhouette, was outlined against the dim light. She swallowed.

He walked around to the shallow end and walked straight down the stairs into the water. Keeping his head out of the water, he bent his knees, sinking up to his shoulders. He spun in the water, moving his arms.

The water was warm. Too warm for a swimming pool, but he was glad of it. He sighed, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. Feeling the floor beneath him slope down, he tread water for a moment, looking up at the incredulous woman sitting on the lounge chair.

She had always considered herself a free spirit. Up for anything.

Until the last ninety seconds, she had thought something like this totally beyond him.

A profound reevaluation of her previous life choices flew through her mind.

 _You've done crazier things._

 _Before the Millennium._

 _Before I turned fifty._

"Well?" he asked, his voice echoing. "Come join me."

Part of her felt she had stepped through the looking-glass.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Charlie Carson?"

He splashed the water at the surface. "This part of me has always been here."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really? The part of you that enjoys skinny-dipping?"

"I've never done this before." Walking up the slope, the water was just at his hips.

"Why now?" _Why are you asking so many questions?_ Part of her was already in the pool.

"The right time, the right opportunity. _Definitely_ the right woman. The only woman I'd do this with." He held out his arms. The humidity was taking a toll on his hair. That curl sticking to his forehead. "Please, Elsie," he rumbled. She felt warmth between her legs, and squeezed them together.

"I can't _believe_ I'm doing this," she muttered, removing one earring, then the other. She laughed. "I've never – I mean, I didn't even learn to swim until I was in my thirties." She removed her necklace and set it with the other jewelry. Her heels off, she stood up.

She thought about turning around, but didn't. _I can be just as bold._

Sinking back so the water was almost to his chin, he watched her. She shimmied out of the dress fairly easily. She did have some trouble around her hips, but gently pulled the rest of it down. Laying it aside, she bit her lip, her arms crossed over her chest. "Are you sure no one will come up here?"

"I promise we'll be alone." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I'd be in this swimming pool naked if I _wasn't_ sure?"

"Very true." She dropped her arms and turned, her eyes not leaving his. Her slip came off, then her tights.

Slowly, very slowly, she unhooked her bra and pulled it off. His breath hitched. When she turned to put it with her other clothes, he unconsciously wrapped his hand around his erect hardness. Moved his hand back and forth. She rolled down her underwear, the black lace panties that he loved. He groaned aloud, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

She almost let her hair down, but decided not to. She didn't want to get it wet. Walking around the side of the pool, she could almost feel the heat of his gaze following her. A gasp escaped from her lips.

 _He is looking at me. He wants me._

 _I want him._

She had to remind herself how to walk, almost tripping over her own two feet.

Acutely aware that her breasts bounced as she went down the stairs, she didn't try to cover up. "Ooh," she said her fingers skimming the top of the water. "It's very warm." She sank down up to her shoulders, moving her arms.

He moved so quickly she didn't have time to react. He grabbed her, pulling her to him, against him. He was on his knees, his shoulders out of the water. Coming against him, her arms went on either side of his neck. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his torso. The rush of water between them splashed up, and they paused for a split second before her mouth met his.

 _God_ , the taste of her, the feel of her. She was feather-light in his arms, nothing to hold. They kissed madly. She, biting his lower lip in her frenzy; he, pressing his tongue into her mouth, claiming her. There was nothing, nothing but her body against his. He wasn't sure if her movement was of her own volition or because of the water around them.

It didn't matter.

She gasped for air, pulling her face away from his. From the way he held her, her head was slightly higher than his. He sucked at her neck. His lips were hard, marking her to her shoulder, down her throat. She cried out, her head going back. Her own voice echoed over and over.

Charles motioned for her to stand in front of him. She loosened her legs and did so, the water coming up above her waist. He pulled her roughly to him, still on his knees. She stood looking down at him. He wrapped his hands around her legs and moved them up to cup her bum. Almost losing her balance, she steadied herself by holding onto his shoulders.

"I want you," he said, his voice low. He squeezed the soft flesh. Gasping, she bent over him. He tipped his head back, licking the nipple that dangled right there for his waiting mouth.

Her wet hands went from his shoulders into his hair. "Oh _god_ , me too," she breathed, pressing herself further into his mouth. He nipped the hardened peak, and she cried out again. "Oh god, Charlie, don't stop…"

His lips and tongue lavished her breast before nimbly skipping to the hollow between them. He loved to hear her sighs and hard breaths, the audible sounds of her desire. But it wasn't enough.

He pushed her back abruptly and stood up. His knees complained when he did so. She felt lightheaded, and wondered why he'd let go of her. His eyes were darting around from one side of the room to the other. Searching.

"Here," he said, backing up, grabbing her hands again. He led her toward the deep end of the pool. She could tell when he reached the slope. He began sinking, and a couple steps later she did too. Pulling her into his arms again, he kissed her, supporting all her weight. A sudden thought struck her: _He's never done that before._

 _He couldn't._

He tightened his arms around her. "You're beautiful. So beautiful," he whispered. She opened her legs, wrapping them around him once more. He moaned when the tip of him brushed against her center.

"We can't," she was desperate, aching for him. "God, I want to, but I can't-you can't…I need-"

He carried her through the water, his feet careful on the slope. Both of them groaned at the further contact. He was no less desperate than she.

She felt the side against her back. The concrete wall. She gasped in recognition, the firm support providing friction.

" _Yes_ ," she moaned against his shoulder. There was an agonizing moment when they both reached for his hard manhood, him pushing, her guiding.

He thrust into her, feeling her thighs spread wide. "God, woman, so good…s-so g-g-good-" Words spurted from his mouth as he thrust again. Deeper. "Wanted this," he panted. "Wanted..y-you like this-"

The water splashed up with her, with every time she moved against the wall. She didn't notice. Or care. "Yes," she cried, feeling her sex beginning to tighten, "God _yes,_ like _this_ , harder, more-" her voice rose in a wild staccato. " _Harder_ -yes-Charlie, god, _yes_ -" she plunged her fingernails into his back. " _Yes, more, more, ahh_ -"

Her words were lost in an explosion of screams. They ricocheted off the water, the windows, the tile floor.

"Fuck _yes_ ," he roared, pounding into her. His own voice echoed, carried around the room. She was so tight around him. He felt the expansion and contraction of her walls, heightened by the solid wall behind her, his arms under hers, holding her. It felt so good, _so good_ , she was so good, he had dreamt of this for ages. Fragments of half-forgotten fantasies. Against her office door. Against _his_ office door. On her desk. Under the kitchen table. In the pool, against the wall.

But this was no fantasy, this was real, she was real. Elsie, taking him in, as she had already taken him in.

He felt so good inside her, her Charlie. His manhood thrust deep inside her, filling her. Rubbing her nub again and again until she thought she would die of the sensation that was equally pleasure and pain. How many times had she thought of this, in past years when the mere thought of him touching her was a dream? Him taking her on his desk. Against the pillar at Joe and Phyllis's wedding. Against her office door.

That had really happened. Like him taking her here, now, in this pool. Against the wall.

It was deliciously naughty, but there was no one else they would share this with.

Nothing existed except for their shared pleasure. They moved together, in tandem, giving themselves to each other totally.

When they finally stopped moving, they stood motionless, her knees against his sides. He kissed her once more before he separated them. Still holding her up, he gently pulled her to him and walked backwards into the shallow end. They ended on the stairs with Elsie sitting on his lap sideways.

Her hair was half down. Half of it was wet and the other half wild in the warm air. Charles's curls were everywhere. She twisted her fingers into them, relishing her man undone.

Neither of them could stop laughing. They giggled like schoolchildren who had outwitted the principal.

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" she managed to say.

"Are _you_?" he nuzzled her cheek. "I'm fine. I didn't hurt you, did I?" She saw the look on his face, the worry.

"No," she touched his temple. "I-I am _marvelous_. You were _marvelous_." She knew she would be sore the next day, but it was worth it.

It was all worth it.

They took clean towels from the rack provided to cover themselves. Carrying their clothes and accessories, they left the pool and the night sky above.

Despite the fact his legs felt like limp noodles (and his back was complaining), they broke into giggles again when they reached their floor. There was a group of people sitting and chatting in a lounge area close to the elevators. They tiptoed past the open doorway, hoping not to be noticed.

He felt giddy.

Only she could make him feel like that.

 _Two people our age gallivanting around a hotel past midnight! Wearing only towels!_

 _We might as well live a little, while we can._

She grinned at him once they were safe in their room.

"I am very glad I came with you," she said, dropping her towel and slipping under the dry sheets on the bed. "But it is too bad that no one will ever know what fun we had!"

He poured two tall glasses of water for both of them. " _We'll_ know," he wagged his eyebrows. "And that's all that matters."

* * *

At checkout late the next morning, Charles slipped the manager a small envelope with the key inside while another staff member took care of their bill.

"Did you enjoy your stay, ma'am?" the young man asked Elsie.

She kept a straight face. "Oh yes. Very much. Especially the pool. It was lovely, thank you."

"There is quite a view from there," Charles commented. He sounded completely normal. "You can see things you don't always expect to see."

"Yes," the young man agreed enthusiastically. "It's a very popular place. Thank you very much, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Carson."

They thanked him again and walked out of the lobby into the parking garage.

"And so back to our normal lives," Charles said, a little wistfully. "I do miss Becky and Pepper and Spike, as well as all of our friends, but this was quite the adventure." He opened the trunk of the car to put their luggage inside.

Elsie put her hand on his back as he finished. "We'll have more adventures," she said. "Perhaps not quite as spirited as the last few days, but I _do_ look forward to what comes next."

"So do I," he leaned down, receiving her kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Now let's get in the car before we freeze!" she said, grinning.

They were never able to walk into any pool area again without exchanging knowing looks.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Aaaaand…a break from my regularly scheduled hiatus. I really can't dive back into the deep end of this story yet, for reasons that are varied and many, but it's been almost two months (!?) and this story has been kicking my subconscious for the better part of a week.**

 **The stuff about selling houses and moving was actually part of this story even before I set it aside. Then my parents moved this week, and my sister just sold her house.**

 **Happy Spring, dearies!**

* * *

 **Late February, 2017**

The heat blew from the radiator as she sat in the idling car. From the outside, the house looked promising.

 _But who knows what the inside looks like?_

Elsie wished for the hundredth time that week that Charles could be there. Not only to have another pair of eyes to look over the houses she'd see, but to hear his voice asking the agent questions, and…and just to have him there.

His presence. She missed him.

 _That infernal trial. Will it_ _ever_ _end?_

Charles, Tom and Jimmy had been stuck in a courtroom for the better part of the month. A complicated lawsuit brought out the worst in the opposing counsel – objections, motions filed, motions in limine demanding more evidence. More witnesses called, more testimony.

More time.

When she _did_ see her husband, it was either early morning and they both were getting ready to leave, or it was long past when she'd gone to bed, and he'd finally turn in, both too exhausted for more than a quick kiss and a murmured _I love you._

She reminded herself she wasn't the only one suffering from the lack of contact with her family. She'd had Sybbie stay with her the previous weekend. Though they had had fun, it was clear the little girl missed her father. Thomas moaned more than once to the office manager that she saw more of his man than _he_ did. Which was precious little.

It was not just the attorneys, either. Both Phyllis and Ivy had to attend the court sessions each day. Joe and Alfred were rather forlorn.

Fishing her phone from her purse, Elsie checked it in the vain hope that Charles would have texted. Her heart leaped when she saw she had a message, but it was from Anna.

 _Anna Bates to Elsie Carson, 3:02 pm_

 _Matthew came back after his hearing at the courthouse. Tom told him the trial will go again tomorrow, and likely not finish until the end of the week at the earliest. Closing arguments hopefully start Wednesday. Sorry to disappoint you._

The use of cell phones at the courthouse was forbidden. At the best of times, the ban was a nuisance. At the worst, it was intolerable. She had hoped that they would have been dismissed a little early, and Charles would have been able to call or text her before she left the office to meet with their real estate agent. But no such luck.

They were finally, _finally_ beginning the process to look for a new home. They had compiled a list of must-haves, strong preferences, plus some feedback from the 'grands'. Sybbie and Poppy wanted a pizza oven. George had begged that they get a house with a swimming pool.

He did not understand why the couple laughed, though they told the boy they would think about it.

At Matthew and Mary's Super Bowl party, Marigold had crept over to Charles and whispered her wish for a backyard swing. As much as he and Elsie listened to all the children, Edith's daughter held a very special place in their hearts.

Elsie's phone buzzed as she was sending a reply to Anna. The young woman had sent another text, a picture of Poppy wearing John's fedora, holding two thumbs up. _Keep smiling, Nana Elsie!_

 _Elsie Carson to Anna Bates, 3:04 pm_

 _Aw, thank you for the picture! My spirits need lifting! I will love Judge Harrison forever if he puts an end to this idiocy and has them start closing arguments Wed._

 _AB to EC, 3:05 pm_

 _Here's hoping. You're welcome! She's recently started doing the "thumbs up" all the time. John taught her to snap her fingers. She likes to come into the family room wearing his hat and doing that. I'm living in a 1940s detective film! :-D_

 _EC to AB, 3:05 pm_

 _Love her, and S too! Give them kisses from us._

 _AB to EC, 3:07 pm_

 _Will do. Good luck w/ the agent!_

 _EC to AB, 3:07 pm_

 _Thx._

Elsie sighed and put her phone back in her purse. She and Charles had wanted to hire Jean, the agent who had sold Elsie's condo, but the woman's business had expanded in the last year. She had recommended a newer agent. He was young, but very capable, she said.

He had scheduled several viewings for Elsie on a grey Tuesday. She considered it something of a trial for him. The comparison forced a rueful smile to her lips.

A silver Honda went past her going the opposite way on the street, only to turn in the cul-de-sac and park behind her car. A tall young man emerged. Elsie got out, feeling every bit of the cold wind.

"Mrs. Carson?"

She smiled as he approached, offering her hand. "Yes. You must be Mr. Pelham."

He nodded, shaking her hand. "Let's get out of the wind, shall we?"

They hurried to the front door of the house. It did not have a front porch, just a few stairs and a narrow entryway.

 _Now, girl, don't discount it before you've even seen inside!_

The agent fiddled with the code before opening the door and letting her go in first. It was a relief to be inside.

"I think it's colder now than it was this morning," he remarked, as they walked into the front hall. "I am terribly sorry I was late, my last showing was all the way over on Memorial Drive. I hope you weren't waiting long."

"No, not at all." Elsie reassured him.

They went all over the house, she trying to see details through her own eyes as well as Charlie's. She knew fairly quickly that it was not the house for them. Still, there were favorable qualities to it, and other details to consider for other places.

Mr. Pelham was professional, and polite. He had a genial manner and was easy to talk with.

By the time they got to the fourth and last house of the day, she was certain that Charles would like him, and that he would not mind if she hired him.

They were standing in the middle of an empty kitchen, chatting about the house in general. "The backyard is not large, but should be big enough for entertaining," he said. "And a swing from the elm there, as you requested. From what Jean told me, you and Mr. Carson have a large number of family and friends nearby."

"Yes," she smiled, "we do. What about you?"

He shook his head. "I'm rather envious," he said as they walked to the front of the house. "My mother lives in the city, but my only close cousin, Peter, moved to South Africa two years ago. He's been more like a brother to me," he explained. "His partner Jibril got a position in Cape Town."

"Oh, that is a long way away," Elsie said in sympathy. "Do they ever travel here?"

"About twice a year. But as you can imagine Mrs. Carson, the plane tickets are not cheap."

"No, I imagine not!" It made her think of Tom and Sybil. Elsie hesitated for a moment. "If we are to work together, I'd like you to call me Elsie. I don't mind Mrs. Carson, but it's a bit formal."

"If you like," he said, buttoning up his coat. "When Jean recommended me to you, I decided to play it safe. I've heard of Mr. Carson, and knew he had a more traditional view of things."

Elsie laughed. "Yes, _he_ does. When you meet him, call him Mr. Carson. He's quite friendly, but not many people call him by his first name except me, my sister and some of our old friends." She dug for her keys. "What do you prefer to go by? Your card says Herbert."

"Call me Bertie, please, Elsie," he grinned. "Not even my mother calls me by my full name!"

"I know how you feel. When Charlie and I got married, it was the first time I'd been called Elspeth in _years_."

"Don't worry, you won't hear it from me. Unless you end up being one of _those_ people who get shown seventy-five houses and still can't narrow down the list." He raised his eyebrows.

"We are much more decisive than that, I assure you," she said. "I will talk to him about the houses today, and will let you know if we want to see any of them again. The one on Glenwood Avenue has a nice bar in the basement, Charlie would like that. I wouldn't mind it, either." Her eyes twinkled.

They chatted about the houses for a little longer. Bertie made several notes on his phone, tweaking their list. "Hopefully the trial will end soon. There are a few more places I've got that you and Mr. Carson might like to see."

She drove home, devoutly hoping the next time there were house showings that Charlie would be with her.

* * *

He was exhausted.

The trial had dragged on into its third week. It was not the strain of preparing for each day that added to his fatigue. The mental energy was taxing. Though Charles bore the brunt of the behind-the-scenes work for himself, leaving much of the actual arguments in court to Tom and James, he was the solid presence behind them.

Tom had tried cases in court, but none so complex. James, usually self-assured, privately doubted his own ability. For both younger men, it was a nervy experience. Charles encouraged both of them. He gave advice when it was needed, and shored up their flagging confidence.

But it took a toll on him.

It was not until Tuesday when he sensed the opposing counsel's witness, and their case, cracking under James's withering cross-examination, that he allowed himself to relax. A little.

 _I can see the end now._

The three were shut in the large conference room at Carson, Crawley & Bates finalizing the details of the closing arguments, having sent their secretaries home. The remains of dinner lay scattered among the legal pads, empty coffee cups and half-empty water bottles, and laptops. The associates had opted for sandwiches, and the managing partner finished an enormous Cobb salad.

"I could go for a Newcastle," James slumped over the table, rubbing his tired eyes. Tom laughed.

"I could go for three."

"No alcohol until after the verdict," Charles said. He knew if he opened a bottle of Cabernet he'd polish the whole thing off by himself. James raised his head.

"Mr. Carson, do you think I should mention Cameron's testimony directly? I don't want to antagonize the jury right before they go to deliberation…"

"Yes," Charles said, with all the patience of a man who had been asked the same question four times in the last hour. "He admitted Perry and Graham's smoking weed in the trailer impaired their judgment, that they would not have had the sense to read the directions on the camper heater before falling asleep." He clapped James on the shoulder. "You should trust your own judgment. You _know_ what you're doing."

"Listen to him," Tom encouraged. "If not to me. You've been brilliant, Jimmy. There's a good chance we will win, thanks to what you did today."

"You set it up last week, when you questioned Dr. Funke," the blond man leaned back in his chair, his arm slung over his head.

"Thanks, but I was a wreck beforehand." Tom turned to Charles. "You nearly had to drag me into the courtroom, my legs were shaking so badly. I can't thank you enough," he drank a sip of water. "I can't imagine _you_ ever feeling ill before an important cross-examination due to nerves!"

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" Charles laughed, glancing at James. "I suppose it would help my reputation if I said I've _always_ been confident in my own ability, never needing any encouragement. But that wouldn't be true."

"Violet told me about one of your early cases, soon after you started at the firm," Tom said. "A personal injury lawsuit dealing with a car crash. She said you looked like death warmed over. But somehow you walked into the courtroom and convinced the jury your client could not be held _fully_ liable."

Nodding, Charles drank the rest of his water. "Did she mention that she was the one who figuratively, if not actually doing so, propped me up? I was convinced I would faint in front of the judge."

The associates laughed. "Was that the worst time you had?" James asked. "Or was it all smooth sailing after that, because you knew you could do it?"

"It was the worst in a way, because that was my first trial," the older man acknowledged. "But there've been many times over the years that I doubted myself. Oh yes," he said, raising his eyebrows at the man's skeptical expression. "There was a trial in the late '90s that Robert and I were involved with. A woman and her boyfriend were suing her ex-husband for damages that included most of the man's business. The boyfriend claimed," he cleared his throat, "that he had fallen out of a tree on the man's property. There was no dispute over that," he tapped a pen on the table, remembering.

"But the difficulty was establishing the extent of the boyfriend's injuries and applying them to other incidents, besides the accident itself. Robert and I were convinced that the woman was motivated not only to ruin her ex, but to make it impossible for him to provide for their children in the way that he had been. When he told them that he might have to leave his house and get a smaller place (preparing them if he lost the case), they told him point-blank that they would rather live with their mother full time. They were like pawns between them."

Tom whistled. "So if the jury decided in her favor, or she got the settlement she wanted…"

"It would have bankrupted him," Charles said softly. "And likely meant the end of joint custody. And he did _not_ want that. We knew our client would have to pay _something_ , but what they wanted was patently ridiculous." He swallowed. "He was not a perfect person, or a perfect parent, but he did not deserve being alienated from his children, his _family._ What I felt then was an awful burden, a sense of responsibility. In a way, I felt like he was entrusting his life to me."

For a moment he was back in the same conference room, only in the last century. His hair more grey than silver. It was dark outside, the sun having gone down, much like the present day…

 _He had sent Robert home. It wasn't fair to keep him from Cora and the girls. His younger partner had left, with the promise to come early the next morning to go over the day's proceedings._

 _Charles sighed, his eyes itchy. Mr. Lewis had openly cried after coming back from the courtroom. It looked hopeless. He had done his best to encourage the man, showing him that all was not lost._

 _But alone in the conference room he was not sure he believed his own words._

 _He covered his face with his hands._

" _Mr. Carson?"_

 _He took a deep breath, blinking up at the figure in the doorway. "Mrs. Hughes. I hope I wasn't keeping you. I thought everyone had gone."_

 _Her purse was on her shoulder, her coat in her hands. "I was just on my way out." She tilted her head. "I hope you don't have to stay too late. You need a good night's rest. It won't do for Mr. Lewis to have an attorney who can't keep his eyes open."_

 _Her tone was utterly professional, but as ever tinged with real concern. She had a knack for it. The attorneys and most of the staff held the office manager in the highest respect because she not only did her job well, but genuinely cared about them as people._

 _He knew she cared for him. As a friend. At times over the years, he had had fleeting thoughts of wondering whether it went any deeper, but set them aside. He cleared his throat and pushed his chair back a little. "Thank you, but I'm not staying much longer. An early night is just what I need." He smiled, but didn't feel it reach his eyes._

 _She was not fooled. She took two steps into the room, adjusting the strap of her purse. "Mr. Carson…is everything…all right?"_

 _He wanted to tell her yes. That it was just the stress of the trial._

 _But he couldn't lie to her._

" _No," he said. It felt like a relief to say it out loud. "I…I'm doing my best, Robert and I both are, but…it doesn't look good. And if he loses his business, and his children over this…" his throat closed. "It will be my fault." He focused on the table, the glow of the florescent light on the glass._

" _Don't be daft," she replied lightly. "_ _If_ _you lose the case, and the worst happens, it will not be on you. On the judge or jury who awards a frivolous settlement, yes. You cannot control what happens outside the courtroom, and only a little of what happens in it. You are doing your very best, and Mr. Lewis knows that." She took another step closer. "I hope it's not presumptuous to say it, but I'm proud of you. No matter what happens."_

 _He had to work very hard not to cry. "Thank you," he whispered. "That…that means a lot to me."_

 _More than she knew._

" _Would I be pressing my luck to insist on buying the first drink on Friday?" she asked, a slight smile curving her lips. "Or is that too modern for you?"_

 _A genuine smile appeared on his face. "No. I suppose it's only fair. I've bought plenty of them."_

 _The case ended in a settlement, a larger one than he would have liked, but Mr. Lewis was able to keep his business. And joint custody of his children._

 _And the office manager bought him a drink that Friday at Pedro's._

James cleared his throat, and Charles came back to the present. "Sorry…I didn't mean to take a trip down memory lane."

"What happened to restore your confidence?" The young man leaned forward. "Did you win the case?"

"It ended satisfactorily for us," Charles said, picking up an empty wrapper and tossing it into the trash can. "As for my confidence, well. Sometimes the right words from the right person at the right time make all the difference."

He did not need to look directly at the other two to see them smile.

That night when he got home, he slipped into the darkened bedroom. His wife was already asleep. He sat on the bed and gently reached for her, unable to try to sleep himself without hearing her voice.

"Elsie," he whispered. She murmured for a moment without words. Climbing beneath the covers, he wrapped his arms around her, her head against his chest. "I love you. Good night." He kissed the top of her head.

"'Love you," she mumbled, half-asleep. "Good night, Charlie." Her accent was thick in her fatigue.

Part of him wanted to wake her fully, to talk with her. Ask what she thought of the agent. Of the houses she'd seen.

He wanted to tell her that he was able to give Tom and James confidence because _she_ had once given it to him. He didn't think he could ever put into words what her support, her pride had meant to him.

He missed her even as she slept in his arms. It made his heart burn to think of the days gone by, the time spent away from her. She understood why; it was not the first time. And it would likely not be the last.

 _I am ready to retire._

 _She isn't._

 _That's all right. With one of us free, there will already be more time. More flexibility._

He smiled as she let out a small snore, her breath tickling the hair on his chest.

 _All the more reason to find a new home sooner rather than later._

* * *

She heard Ivy before she saw her on Thursday afternoon. The young woman called hello to Madge as she passed her desk after flying up the stairs. Elsie's heart stuttered, and she had to close her eyes for a moment, to keep herself calm.

 _It's over. Thank God._

"Mrs. Carson?" Ivy popped her head into her office. "The jury ruled in our favor! Jimmy was brilliant, so was Tom, and Mr. Carson looked relieved. They'll be back soon. He told me to tell you."

"Thank you, Ivy. That's wonderful!" Elsie smiled at her before turning back to her work.

Not that she would be able to concentrate.

It was all she could do to stay in her seat, and listen for the sound of his voice coming up the stairs. A millennium went by before she heard him.

He praised the associates and secretaries' hard work to Robert and Cora, who had come out of their offices.

Then he knocked on her door. With a look from her, he came in and softly shut it. Never mind what the staff thought.

She stood up and came around her desk, her hand resting on its smooth surface.

"We won," he said, his shoulders back. "Tom and James did wonderfully, they deserve all the praise." He smiled, relief evident on his face. "I don't mind letting them take all the glory-"

His words were stopped when his wife pulled him down for a kiss. She slid a hand from his pink tie to his face, her fingers caressing his cheek, to the back of his neck. Charles opened his lips over hers. The touch of her, the warmth of her breath humming into his mouth. The _taste_ of her.

It had been way too long.

He moaned softly, mindful of the thin walls and the door that could open at any moment. But if she kept kissing him like that he would not be able to control himself.

They broke apart, breathing hard. "I'm so glad for you, for them. Let the lads have the glory," she whispered, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. "I'll take the managing partner."

The way she said it made his trousers grow tight. _She means that literally._

It was a good thing they had parted, for no sooner had she spoken then Joe knocked, then entered. The rest of the day they barely saw each other, taken up with the mundane details of work. Charles left slightly early, eager to go home and see their furry children for a while.

Elsie could not find it in her heart to be angry with him when she came home. He was asleep in the recliner, Pepper on his lap and Spike curled at his feet.

 _He is_ _so_ _tired._

After dinner, he went to bed early. He was asleep long before she came in.

* * *

"Poor you," Beryl laughed, running her finger along the top of her glass. " _Finally_ your man comes home, and he's too tired to get up to anything!"

Isobel covered her mouth and managed to swallow her martini. "Beryl, honestly!" She coughed, looking at Elsie. "Is she always like this?"

"Yes," Elsie grinned. She was far too used to Beryl to be offended. "For your information, I didn't mind. I would rather him have a good night's sleep and get back into a regular routine. That's more important than…other things."

Charles had woken up late that morning, but had gotten ready in time for them to drive to work together. He had encouraged her to leave the office promptly at five, promising to be there soon.

She was glad to spend some time with her friends, enjoying a Friday evening drink. But the weekend would not begin properly until he got to Pedro's.

Despite the early hour, the bar was already crowded. Isobel had grabbed a table for them. Bill was planning on coming later, as was Richard Clarkson. Until Beryl had mentioned Charles, she and Elsie had been teasing their attorney friend non-stop about the medical examiner.

A local sorority had taken over a large number of tables, as well as places at the bar. Elsie smiled into her Moscato when Tara kicked out a pair of girls from the two chairs at the end. The bartender gestured in her direction, motioning to the clock. 5:21.

Sighing, Elsie shrugged at her. She didn't want to leave her friends, even to sit alone at the bar, but if Charles didn't arrive soon, Tara would have no choice but to let others sit in their spots.

"…but I put my foot down when Matthew said he was going to speak to Richard," Isobel was saying. "I told him I was perfectly capable of having a relationship without my son interfering!"

"Of course," Beryl drank some more of her Guinness. "But really, maybe someone does need to talk to him. You don't want to have to wait as long as she did." She pointed at Elsie.

"Richard moves faster than Charles," Isobel said. She rolled her eyes when she saw the others' expressions. "Oh, you know what I mean – Mr. Carson moved with all the speed of a tortoise before you married!"

The noise grew in the room. The sorority sisters, some with dates, mostly took over the small dance floor.

"What in the _hell_ are they playing on the jukebox?" Beryl called over the din. "I'm getting flashbacks! Bloody _awful!_ "

Isobel and Elsie laughed. "It must be '80s night, or '90s," Elsie grinned at the girls dancing. "You didn't mind the music so much then, Bee!"

"I didn't have anything to compare it to," her friend retorted. "It's no wonder I took up drinking before dancing!"

Elsie shook her head, taking another sip of wine. She glanced up at the clock above the bar and her heart skipped several beats.

A man sat in the next to last seat from the end. He laughed at something Tara said, his silver hair glinting under the lights, his collar open, his sleeves rolled up.

For some reason, she could not take her eyes off his arms, the way he rested them on the bar. Running a finger through his hair above his ear. His hand around his glass.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice barely audible over the music and conversation. She stood up and glanced quickly at her friends. "Please tell Bill and Richard hello for me."

"Have a good night," Isobel replied, despite knowing Elsie was already far away. Beryl smirked.

Making her way through the crowd, Elsie set her purse down before pulling herself into the seat at the end. She set her half-full glass down and casually leaned on the bar, turning toward the man next to her.

"I wouldn't expect to see someone like you here this evening," she began. "It's mostly a girls' night out."

He shrugged and sipped his AmberBock. "That means the view is better," he set his glass down, flexing his fingers. His white gold ring glinted. "More beautiful women for me to enjoy."

"Oh, I see," she nodded. "Are you looking for a certain type in particular? Or will anyone do?"

"'Anyone'? Hardly," he scoffed. "No, I have _high_ standards where women are concerned. I'm very difficult to please. Indeed, I think my standards are so high only one woman would ever satisfy them."

"Oh dear, those _are_ high standards," she took a long sip of her wine. "I pity the woman who has to live up to them."

"My wife doesn't need pity," he said firmly. "I think she is well satisfied with our marriage."

Elsie raised her eyebrows. "You seem quite certain. I wonder how _she_ would define satisfaction."

"Yeah, I'm curious about that, too," Tara murmured as she passed by on the other side of the bar.

He leaned over towards Elsie. She sucked in a breath, her eyes flitting down to his unbuttoned collar, his broad chest, his dark trousers that showed off his legs.

"I have yet to hear any complaints from her," he murmured, his voice barely a rumble under the music. "Attention to detail is my strong suit. She taught me that."

She thought she would fall off the stool. "Well," she stammered, gripping the bar, "that is very admirable, if true. Why don't you show me? Dance with me."

He held out his hand for her to take, a smile playing on his lips. They walked to the edge of the dance floor, where the music had thankfully changed.

Frowning, he slid one hand to her waist while the other rested on her shoulder. "I don't know this song."

"Neither do I," she said, though it sounded vaguely familiar.

 _I could lose my heart tonight_

 _If you don't turn and walk away_

' _Cause the way I feel I might_

 _Lose control and let you stay_

' _Cause I could take you in my arms_

 _And never let go_

 _I could fall in love with you_

 _I could fall in love with you…_

"I remember now," she said softly, squeezing his shoulder. "Years ago, I heard this song. At the time I was in love with my boss. But he didn't know how I felt…" she bit her lip, looking off across the room. "And I didn't know if he would ever know."

 _And I know it's not right_

 _And I guess I should try_

 _To do what I should do_

 _But I could fall in love,_

 _Fall in love with you…_

"Did he?" he asked. "Did he ever find out you loved him?" His eyes were soft. She gave him a gentle smile.

"Yes. And the wonder of it was, he loved me, too."

Their movements had slowed until they stopped. He leaned forward and tilted her head up, kissing her sweetly on the lips.

Several of the sorority girls noticed, as well as Beryl and Bill, who sat together at the table in the corner.

He looked down at her, the light in her eyes, the slight flush on her face. "He loved you then," he whispered, "he loves you now, he will love you forever."

"As I love him," she murmured.

They walked hand in hand back to the bar. She motioned to Tara. "That's all for tonight. Thanks for saving the seats." She gave a half-apologetic shrug. "We didn't sit for very long, sorry."

"No problem," the young woman said. "I know you'll be back next week."

* * *

Before they had left the building, he was touching her. His hand on her waist, the other sliding down from her shoulder down her side as he followed behind her through the mass of people. In between the double doors, after he had pulled on his suit jacket and winter coat, he swept her into his arms. They kissed until she gasped for air.

"Charlie," she moaned, "take me home."

They kissed again outside despite the cold air. Walking alone the brick mural of the side wall in the dim light, she pulled at his lapels.

He could not resist her.

His open mouth against hers, their tongues teasing each other. His big hands cradled her face before sliding into her hair. She reached around him, holding him as close as she could.

He took a step backwards so as not to lose his balance. He would never have noticed the person behind him if he had not heard a sudden cry, then felt himself bump into someone in the semi-darkness.

Elsie gasped, still holding onto him. "What-?"

Charles glanced behind him. It was another couple. He squinted, seeing a shorter man. "Dr. Clarkson? Richard?"

"Charles Carson? I'm terribly sorry, we-I didn't see you," the familiar brogue of the medical examiner floated through the air. Elsie went red. She tugged on Charles's sleeve, trying to get him to move, but he didn't understand.

"Who's there? I'm afraid I stepped-"

"It's only me, Carson, no need to worry that you've run me over," Isobel pulled her coat further around herself. Her usually coiffed hair looked distinctly ruffled.

Charles's mouth fell open before he recovered. "Ah – good. Well, we're off. Sorry to disturb you. A pleasant evening to you, and to you, Dr. Clarkson."

"Good night," Elsie said quietly as they passed. She hoped they hadn't ruined the moment. Isobel gave her a half smile as she passed, and the gesture gave her some relief.

 _I will have to call her later._

"I had no idea," Charles said, sounding half-dazed on the way home. "That Isobel…and Richard…did you?"

"Yes," Elsie said, biting back a laugh. "For quite a while now. Almost a year, if not longer."

They reached home without any further incident. The Beasleys' house was dark, Pete and Sharon having gone to Hawaii for their annual winter trip.

Charles slipped the key into the lock. This time it was Elsie who could not keep her hands to herself. Letting out a groan as she cupped his bottom, Charles opened the door.

He did feel guilt that he let out Pepper only to put her in the laundry room when she came back inside. Elsie put Spike in the guest bedroom, where his bed was. Normally, both animals had the run of the house.

 _Not tonight_ , Elsie thought as she headed back toward the kitchen. Charles had removed his coat and jacket, as well as his shoes. Her heart thumped almost painfully at the sight of his broad back. She slipped behind him, wrapping her arms around him. He took a deep breath.

"Where's Spike?"

"Guest room," she murmured against his back.

"Good," he turned in her arms, his hands finding her hips. "I love them, both of them, but I don't want any more distractions tonight. Only you," he breathed, kissing her forehead, along her hairline. "Only you, Elsie. My only."

She whimpered when he kissed her on the mouth. At first it was slow, deliberate. But then it escalated, their lips open, wordless moans passing between them. He raked his fingers through her hair before sliding his hands down her body. She fumbled for the buttons on his shirt.

Before she could undo two or three, he took her wrists and pulled her toward the recliner. He sat down, and she climbed onto his lap.

They resumed kissing.

This time she was slightly looking down on him, her arms around his shoulders, her fingers tugging on his hair. He folded back the collar of her blouse.

His _mouth,_ his _lips,_ his _tongue_ on the soft skin of her throat. On her chest. The slow, steady, incessant movement of his hands on the small of her back, on her legs.

"Oh god," she choked, leaning back to let him unbutton the top of her blouse, "don't stop touching me. _Touch_ me, Charlie."

The more he touched her, the more she wanted him. Needed him.

She reached down and unbuckled his belt. He leaned forward slightly, so she could work it through the loops. Her body against his, her heavy breaths panting, _god_ , her legs around his waist, the heat of her.

Her blouse was open enough for him to press soft kisses against her cleavage. Tongue the rounded swell of her breasts. She cried out, and the sound made his hips thrust forward.

She didn't want to get up. And yet she was wearing too many clothes, he was wearing too many clothes, and there was no way for them to remove them unless she moved. Getting up, she stood in front of him, her face flushed, her hair tangled. She unbuttoned the rest of her blouse and tossed it on the couch. It was followed by her black trousers and tights.

He sat openly staring at her. His breath coming faster with the more she revealed herself.

"Y-you're so beautiful," he stuttered, his eyes nearly black with desire. "And smart. The kindest heart I've ever known…I would be lost without you."

She stripped herself of her underwear and bra. But somehow his words made her feel more vulnerable than her nakedness.

"Charlie," she bit her lip. She had to force herself to look him in the face. "I love you for saying it, but I am not as grand as you make me out to be." He unzipped his trousers, and she pulled them off of him.

"I say it because it's true," he said, wiggling out of his shorts and tossing them aside. He held out his arms in a silent appeal for her to return to them. She smiled slightly, and gestured. Pulling off his shirt, he tossed it to her. "You see? Smart," he sighed as she sank back onto his lap.

"And you, my man," she breathed as they kissed, she drawing his lower lip into her mouth, "Do you know what you do to me when I see you walk into a room?" She put her hands over his, which rested on her thighs. "The way you stand, your every expression. Your voice," she whispered in his ear. "God, I've missed hearing you, not just at home, but in the office next door. I've _missed_ you," she repeated.

She rolled her hips forward, feeling his hardness beneath her. He continued kissing her, returning to her breasts, taking one into his mouth. He grazed his tongue gently across her scar, his hands sliding to the tops of her thighs. His tenderness brought tears to her eyes.

His fingers traced a circle in the tangled hair above her mound. She leaned to one side, and managed to get the recliner to lay back. Charles gasped, then smiled up at her. His hands still hovered near her center.

"Touch me," she breathed, moaning as she felt him beginning to rock forward, "god, _touch_ me, take me- _Charlie, a ghraidh-_ "

She fell forward, her hands on his chest. He shifted only a little, gasping as she sank onto the tip of his erect manhood. He thrust up, deeper, into her.

His rhythm was slow. She moaned, whimpered, cried out, rolling her hips forward. He felt her tightening, and tried mightily to hold on. But _god_ , the words that she was _saying_ -

"Take me," she begged, leaning back so that he was nearly out of her before she leaned forward again, sinking onto his length. "Don't stop, don't stop, I want you- _y-es,_ in _side_ me, yes, oh _god, take me-e-e-ahhh-_ "

She exploded above him in a keening cry of ecstasy. " _ELSIE!_ " he roared, losing control. His hands pressed on the small of her back, pressing her closer as he thrust into her. He could feel the pulse of himself inside her, the warmth of her sex contracting around him.

He felt so good, _so good_ inside her. This was what she missed, them together, _home_ , the hair on his chest rubbing her breasts, his gasping moans, her wild keening. And all the time their bodies moving in tandem.

She shuddered against him with the last cry still echoing from her lips. Kissing him, she sighed as he gently removed himself from her. Laying her head against his chest, she tried to speak but found she couldn't.

Charles stroked her hair, feeling her shaking. It wasn't until she gave a little sob that he realized she was crying.

"Are you all right, love?" he murmured, trying to turn his head so he could see her.

"Mmm-hmmm," she managed to gasp. She raised her head, her eyes rimmed with tears. Trying to smile, instead she dissolved once more, covering her face with her hands.

He gently raised the recliner so that they were sitting up. He kept his arms around her as she cried. He didn't think anything was really wrong, but he started to worry when she didn't stop right away.

She wanted to stop crying. The last thing she wanted was to worry him. But like the explosion of pleasure, she could do little until she was finished weeping. Her sobs quieted, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. He rubbed her back.

"I don't know…" she began, but then realized she did know. "I don't want to be apart from you," she whispered. "Not like the last few weeks. Not again. Not _ever_ again. We've been through so much in the last year, and I don't…I never want to take us for granted." She bit back another sob. "But it doesn't seem fair, because…because I think the best way for us to go forward is for _you_ to move forward, and retire. But I'm not ready, and that's not fair to you…" She laid her hand on his chest, on his scar.

"Elsie, shh," he smoothed her hair back. He was relieved. "We've talked about this. We agreed that I would retire first, and that you would stay on until you were ready. It's not a question of fairness." He kissed her head. "I was thinking earlier this week of retirement. _I_ don't want to be apart from you any more than I have to, either," his throat closed up as he lifted her chin with his thumb.

They sat for a long time simply holding each other.

Finally, they made their way to bed after checking on Pepper and Spike.

Elsie lay wrapped in Charles's arms. "When will you tell Robert and John?"

"After Mary has the baby. She's due in the next month, and George was early. I don't want to cause Matthew _or_ Robert any more stress than necessary. I hope you don't mind," he rubbed his hand over his eyes. She turned and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"No. It's best for life to have settled down before you upset the balance of things." She knew it would be a massive transition, both for the firm. And for Charles.

"I'm looking forward to it," he said, resting his hand under his head. "Retirement. Looking after our furry children and grands, visiting Becky more often. Making dinner for you," he nuzzled her neck. "I was thinking about volunteering at one of the local schools, too. Be a tutor, just help out any way I can."

Elsie turned to face him. "You've thought about this a lot."

"Yes," he pulled her hand to his lips, kissing it. "Ever since our honeymoon, really. But it was the trial that really did it. Tom and James were brilliant," he said softly. "They didn't need me, not really. And I found I was all right with that. Well, a little sad," he admitted, "but mostly proud. _So_ proud of them. Of all our attorneys and staff, really. I could never think of retirement if I didn't think they weren't ready."

Tears shone in Elsie's eyes again. "I love you, Charles Carson."

"I love you, Elsie Carson." They kissed once more before he turned out the light.

"I think I'm going to like you being retired," she murmured. "Will you bring me breakfast in bed?"

"Of course," he replied. "You can call me your own private butler."

The bed shook with her laughter.

* * *

 **A/N: It will be awhile before I update this again. Too many other things going on. But don't worry, there's still a lot to happen in this story. I just had to pop in for an update.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I love you all, and will love you with cinnamon rolls on top if you leave a review!**

 ***The song in Pedro's is Selena Quintanilla-Perez (Selena)'s "I Could Fall In Love With You". RIP, Selena - she died on March 31, 1995.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: It's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Once again, I must warn you that there will likely be a long time gap before another chapter is posted. But it's been a long time, and Mistressdickens asked. I can never say no to people who ask that nicely. It also helped I've had an idea for this chapter for ages, so it was just the little matter of actually writing it.**

 **A couple of things – this begins with a flashback, then goes directly into the present part of the story (which actually takes place in the future, if that makes any sense at all).**

 **Tsuro is an actual game that I've played numerous times. I hope I've described it well enough not to confuse you all.**

 **Also, a shout-out to ealga21, who inspired a little snippet of this chapter. Your story made me cry with laughter. If my take on it is at all amusing, I've succeeded. Thank you!**

 **I hope you all enjoy this. It's been such a long time since visiting this Chelsie that I rather doubted my ability to get into their heads (and erm, other bits of them) again, but I do love them so!**

 **Please review if you have time. And, as always, I do not own Downton Abbey, M/Smut alert, NSFW, along with a healthy dose of fluff. Because I love eeeeeettttttttt.**

 **I can't write angst all the time, ya know?**

* * *

 _ **September 2015**_

The sound of jazz floated through the park. The crowd clapped as the pianist finished the song with a flourish, and the drummer tapped the cymbals. Families and friends picnicked on blankets, while children chased each other in the still-warm evening air.

A man and woman seated beneath a large oak tree were too engrossed in each other to notice the music.

Charles slipped his fingers through Elsie's hair, then along the curve of her face. He heard her hum as they kissed. It turned into a low moan when he slid his tongue slowly over hers.

She loved – she _loved_ him kissing her. It was moments like these that felt as though time had stopped completely, that nothing existed except the two of them. She ran her hand from the back of his neck into his silver hair. He murmured against her lips.

Shouting, a small girl ran past them, breaking their private interlude.

Charles grinned, sighed, and sat up. He glanced around to see if anyone had been staring. They both were private people, and neither often indulged in public displays of affection. But since they had begun a physical relationship, it was more and more difficult to keep their hands off each other.

Except, of course, at Carson, Crawley & Bates.

No one there knew they had been dating each other since January.

Seeing no one look their way, he turned his eyes back to Elsie. The vision of the woman before him made him catch his breath.

She leaned on one hand, the evening light streaking through the reddish tints in her hair. It was decidedly untidy, thanks to him. There were red spots on her face, and her lips were swollen.

But it was the way she gazed at him that made his heart tremble.

Her blue eyes sparkled, starry-eyed.

She leaned forward and caressed his face. Her lips parted to kiss him again.

"We should go," he rumbled as softly as he could, catching her hand with his own and kissing it. His own self-control was hanging by a thread as it was.

"Now?" She raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like we have to make an early evening of it. I know how much you love jazz." Her eyes twinkled.

"I've heard plenty before, and I'll hear more in the future," he said, gathering up their empty champagne glasses and plates to put back in the basket. "But there are other ways to spend an evening with the woman I love."

As they walked to her car, she felt as though she could either laugh or cry for joy. This man, _her_ man, so stoic and reserved for so long, was a hopeless romantic when it came to her.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

If it had been anyone else, it would have frightened her, the depths of her feelings for him. For Charles. But she was sure of his love for her, as much as he was sure of her love for him.

They were quiet on the drive back to her condo.

She wondered if he would be offended if she tore his shirt off the second they got inside.

They had made love numerous times since June. Too many to count. She smiled, her face growing warm.

With one exception, though, it had all been rather repetitive. Kissing at her place or his, foreplay in the bedroom, bliss in bed. Sex with Charles was not bad, not at all. It was by far the best she'd ever had. It was just…predictable.

She knew she'd have to bring it up. Somehow. She doubted he would.

She squeezed her thighs together, thinking about that delicious moment in July when he'd propelled her against the door in her city office and had taken her right there. She sucked in a breath, remembering the desperate need they both felt, the heat in his eyes. He hadn't held back, and his open lust for her had been, up to now, the single hottest moment she could remember. She thought he knew how much she had enjoyed it, but understood why there hadn't been a repeat. His back had ached for weeks.

He gazed unseeing out the window as the highway flashed past. He cursed silently, wondering what had possessed him to take Elsie to the Jazz Festival.

 _If we had stayed in town, instead of going to the city, we would have been home by now._

 _In bed._

He was well aware she was aroused. Her flushed face, her hands clenching the steering wheel. He just wished his body could hold out long enough, that he wouldn't have to make her wait for him to catch up.

Like he knew he would once they got back to her place.

 _I hate getting old._

He wondered what she'd do if he unbuttoned her blouse in the main entryway. He had a vision of her taking off her clothes there, but was convinced she'd never do something like that. Not even for him.

 _Stupid._

They got back to her condo and carried the blanket and went inside. By the time she set the basket on the counter, she'd lost her nerve to seduce him. He seemed tense, and she didn't want to spoil the mood.

He put the glasses in the sink and rinsed them, his mind racing. He wanted to try something different. Something…fun, for lack of a better word. But what?

What would SHE like? What would she think was fun?

She was a modern woman. Not like him. It was one of the reasons why he loved her.

He could simply ask her what she wanted, but he didn't want to spoil the mood.

Then his eyes fell on a familiar box on the corner of the counter, and something clicked in his mind.

 _Make the suggestion. If she goes for it, good. If not…well, hopefully she will._

 _And you just might get to have your fantasy, too._

 _It's not like she wouldn't get anything out of it, either._

"Would you like to play a game?" he asked.

"What?" She blinked, wondering what he meant.

"A board game. Instead of watching a film. Unless you'd rather do that…" He trailed off.

"No, a game sounds fine," she said. Honestly, she'd much prefer him take her back to the bedroom, but she was intrigued by his tone.

And the sun had only gone down during the drive home. They had plenty of time.

He went over to the box and lifted the lid. "Tsuro?*"

She relaxed, smiling, and cleared off the small table. "I wonder why you thought of _that_ one in particular."

 _Tsuro: The Game of the Path_ was a new favorite of Becky's, though not on the same level as Candy Land or Uno. It was simple, not requiring any reading ability, or much explanation. The object was for each player to form a path on the board, using cards with lines going in different directions; some straight, some curvy. The goal was to form a path that would not take a player off the board. It was inevitable that a path would do so – but the last player to remain on the board would win.

It was also a short game, barely taking more than fifteen minutes.

Charles set the board on Elsie's small kitchen table. It was a slightly higher table, with only two chairs. He didn't like to think about the many evenings she'd sat there alone.

"Would you like something to drink?" Elsie asked. He shook his head, stacking the cards next to the board so they both could reach them. She sat down and picked up the yellow rock. "This one's mine, then."

"And I thought you'd pick red," he teased, and they smiled at each other. "You'd hardly get the chance otherwise." Becky _always_ picked the red one to use.

They began the game with their rocks on opposite sides of the board. Elsie determined to take up as much space as possible, choosing cards with lines that took her on a zig-zag course. Charles began in a straight line until he got to the other end of the board, when he turned and started going another way.

He huffed out a sigh. "You're in my way."

She laughed, studying her cards. "That's my plan." Now that they were playing, she was enjoying herself.

Raising one prodigious eyebrow, he surveyed her with a serious expression – other than the twinkle in his eye. "That's not very considerate of you, Mrs. Hughes."

"I aim to win, Mr. Carson." She raised her own eyebrow as she laid down another card, grinning wickedly at him.

He let out another exasperated sigh and sat back against his chair. Turning the cards in his hands, he looked at the board and mentally placed them down, trying to see where they could fit that _wouldn't_ result in him losing.

"It seems I _will_ win," she murmured gleefully, glancing at the two cards she had left. He sat forward again.

"We'll see," he said gravely, setting down one card and moving his rock. "He who laughs last, laughs best."

"Don't you mean, ' _she_ '?" She set down her card quickly. "You can only move there, or there, and either way, you'll be off the board-"

"Unless I do this," he set down his second to last card. She glanced down at her one remaining card, then up at the board, then back again. Her eyes widened.

"You-you _blocked_ me!"

He let out a laugh. "If you can use your last card to get you out of trouble, then you have nothing to fear."

They both knew she didn't.

"Well," she set down the card and dutifully traced the squiggly line with her rock until she'd reached the end, sailing off the board. "You bested me, Charles. What is your prize?"

"Oh, I think we should play more than once, don't you?" He gathered up the cards and shuffled them again. "You very nearly beat me that time."

"Fair enough," she laughed, shaking her head, leaning her cheek against her finger. "The best two out of three?"

"There's a start. But I _do_ think there should be a prize," he said, stacking the cards.

"I agree," she nodded.

"All right." He met her eyes and couldn't help the smug smile that appeared on his face. "The loser of the game has to take off an article of clothing."

Her mouth dropped open in shock. But there also appeared a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. "It's convenient you say that _after_ you've already won."

"Maybe," he said, drumming his fingers on the table in delight. "But I had that idea before we played, and if I'd lost, I still would have suggested it."

She laughed under her breath and turned sideways in her chair, unbuttoning her shirt. "I suppose I could take off one sock."

" _That_ would be cheating, Elsie."

She was beyond thrilled he'd thought outside the box.

Three games later, she was clad only in her underwear, and his shirt and tie were draped over the sofa.

"Your turn," she bit her lip in a vain attempt to keep back a smile as she picked up the cards.

He sighed dramatically and stood up, unbuckling his belt. "There's no need to look _quite_ so pleased." Dropping his trousers, he draped them over the back of his chair.

Both of them had an exceptionally difficult time concentrating on the board during the next game.

Seeing her sitting there, calmly deliberating over her next move.

Topless.

The way her hair fell against her neck and bare shoulders, her pale skin occasionally dotted with freckles, the rosy pink nipples of her breasts.

He cleared his throat to keep from groaning aloud.

She pinched the cards between her fingers, forcing herself to breathe. The way that errant curl of his fell on his forehead, the broad slope of his shoulders, the soft grey hair that covered his chest.

She ached to touch him, to kiss him, to feel his body against hers.

"You're blushing, Mrs. Hughes."

His calling her by her professional name, considering the time and place, not to mention their lack of clothing, caused her cheeks to burn anew. He sounded exactly like he did at the firm.

"Am I?" She croaked, her tongue feeling heavy. "I'm not embarrassed, not really. You've seen me like this before."

"What are you thinking, then?" he asked, curious. He glanced at his cards, glad they were nearly finished.

"I…" she bit her lip, but a bold smile slipped past her anyway. She raised her eyes to meet his. "I was thinking of what people would say if we played this game like this in your office, instead of in my kitchen."

His mouth opened in a round O before he closed it. He nodded, serious, and leaned forward. "I would get _no_ work done if we did. I'd have to keep the door locked all the time." His eyes twinkled. "The staff would talk, and we can't have that, can we?"

"Certainly not." She put her fingers to her lips, ostensibly to think about her next move, but really to gauge his reaction.

He caught his breath. She nearly smiled, but stopped herself in time.

They finished the game in a rush.

"Well," he said while they got up, "You won the best of five games. Not," he glanced down at her in open appreciation, then at himself, "That it would matter now. Whoever lost that last game, would have no more clothes to take off."

"What a pity," she murmured. "I wanted to keep playing."

Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.

His erection was visible through his boxers. They stood so close she felt his hair brush her chest.

Their lips met, and she was undone.

They never made it to the bedroom that night.

* * *

 **March, 2017**

Charles fumbled for the light switch as they stumbled into the hallway. He couldn't find it.

Then again, trying to flip the switch with his elbow and keep both hands on Elsie's breasts was impossible.

She moaned, pressing her back against him. He let out a sound somewhere between a sign and a groan, and gave her a hard kiss on her shoulder, before nuzzling her neck.

"Charlie, for heaven's _sake_ ," she gritted through her teeth. She didn't mind his attentions, but she could barely reach around him to throw her underwear and his boxers in the direction of the laundry.

 _I hope Spike doesn't find it before we do the wash tomorrow._

She fell forward against the wall, mindful enough not to knock pictures off. Charles's hands were everywhere, maddening her with his touch, and she couldn't find the strength to stand on her own.

He brushed his hand across her breasts, feeling the hardened peaks. His other hand slid down her belly and abdomen. Kissing behind her ear, he whispered her name as the tips of his fingers found the soft hair of her mound, then the wetness beneath.

When he dipped one finger inside her, then two, she cried out and arched her back. Her hands were flat against the wall. "Yes, there, just- _there_ , y-e-e-e-e-s-s-"

The slow torment of the last hour as they undressed themselves while playing Tsuro had worked her into a frenzy. Now his breath puffing into her hair and his hands, his fingers, his relentless prodding teasing penetrating her, sent her over the edge not two minutes after they'd been calmly sitting at the table.

He pushed, curled, caressed through her folds, found her nub and circled it with his index finger. He propped his knee against the wall, lending her a little more support – not that she would notice.

The sound of his wife's ecstasy drove his own desire higher.

As did the movement of her body against his.

Gasping, Elsie leaned her head against her hands, her body shaking. Charles gently removed his fingers from inside her, and wrapped his arms around her, letting her rest against him.

"Bed? Or the couch?" he murmured in her ear.

She was still trying to get her breath back to answer him when they both heard a thump from the living room.

"What was that?" Charles asked. They both turned in the same direction. The light from the hallway spilled a little into the room. She shook her head, not able to see much. Then they both made out the dim light of a cat's eyes watching them.

" _Spike_ ," growled Charles. "What are you _doing_ in there? Get out of the living room!"

Even as he said it, he knew there was no use. Spike was not Pepper. If their cat wanted to be in a certain room, he would stay there, moving only at his own leisure.

The black cat sauntered nonchalantly from the dark living room into the brightness of the hallway. Elsie hissed, and pulled Charles's hands over her breasts again.

"Don't let him see!" she said, oblivious to Spike's indifference. "I don't want him seeing me _naked_!"

"He's a cat," Charles laughed. "He doesn't care."

It was one thing for their furry children to see or hear them during sex. If one of the grands was visiting…well, they tended to take extra precautions.

Elsie half held her breath until Spike disappeared into the guest room. She walked quickly to the door on wobbly legs and closed it. "Bed," she breathed, turning back to her man, her eyes dark.

She crawled onto the bed and pushed herself up so she was kneeling on the soft comforter. Charles climbed behind her, his hands on her hips. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of her neck as they moved, their bodies in tandem, her bottom against his groin.

"Elsie," he panted, his hands parting her thighs, "What do you want?"

"I want-I need," she gasped, her desire overwhelming her, "I want _you_."

"Want me?" he murmured, his fingers dancing close to her center again. "Want me how?"

"I want you inside me," she moaned, " _Now._ " She crawled forward, looking a little like a cat herself. His hazy mind only registered her grace, how beautiful she was. She rested her hands on her pillow.

A moment later she felt him thrust into her.

She couldn't see him, not from this angle, but oh _god_ , how good it felt. She moved her hips back when he moved forward, and smiled at his loud moan. He thrust again, harder, and she keened, feeling him fill her.

 _Wherever we are, however we join, this is what I long for. For him, for us, for home._

It never ceased to amaze him that she loved him so, wanted him, desired him the way she did. He kept going, listening to her shattering beneath him.

It wasn't enough.

He rubbed her back, pulling out as she quieted. "I need you," he murmured, pleading. She knew what he meant. She rolled over onto her back, and he entered her warmth again, relishing the feel of her breasts against his chest, her hands gliding over his shoulders and down to rest on the small of his back. Her movements were clear.

 _Closer. I need you closer, mo ghraidh._

The closer they came, the more wild their rhythm, the greater the ache.

 _My wife, I need you. Let me come home to you._

She thrust her own hips up, and felt his thickness inside her, deep. She reached down to touch herself, him, the place where they joined.

" _ELSIE!_ " He shouted, spilling into her with a great roar. He panted, shook with exertion, as she held him, the two of them still moving frantically, the friction of him inside her causing her to cry out.

He thrust slower, drawing out her pleasure. She keened, her voice spiraling higher.

"Don't stop don't stop _don't stop_ -"

He held on for as long as he could, giving her what she wanted. What she needed.

"Oh god, Charlie," she moaned, throwing her head back, tangling her hands in her hair. "So good…so _good, mo chridhe_ ,"

She gave him equal joy in their shared love. "I love you," he panted, "forever, my Elsie, my bride."

Every day that passed brought them more happiness in each other. After almost a year of marriage, with all its ups and downs, they were closer than ever.

She sat up a little, loving the feel of them together, even as they slowed their movements. Soft murmurs passed between them as they kissed.

He kissed her one last time, reluctantly pulling away from her lips, before separating them. He flopped down next to her, exhausted, finding her hand and pulling it onto his chest, over his heart.

"Why don't we play board games more often?" She muttered after a long time. "You drive me mad when we do…and I mean that, Mr. Carson, in the _nicest_ possible way."

"I'm glad to oblige you, Mrs. Carson," he said, his heart finally slowing. He smiled at the ceiling, feeling very languid. "We should play more…maybe that should be our new tradition. After we get home from Pedro's, of course." They had returned from their Friday night haunt before seven that evening. He turned his head in her direction. "You seemed to like games before our marriage too, if I remember correctly."

She laughed out loud, her ring glinting in the lamplight. "The carpet in my condo was nice enough to walk on, but any other activity was not wise." She reached over and traced his cheek. "I had a rug burn on my back for days."

He turned over, lightly running his fingers over her back. "Is that when you decided you liked to be on top?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded.

"Mmm," she murmured, a smile ghosting on her lips. "I've always enjoyed being on top. It was more out of necessity then. And you were very accommodating. Thank you."

"Anything for you, my love," he said, kissing her hand. "You do the same for me." He lifted his head a little from his pillow. "Did I hurt you? When you were on your hands and knees?"

"No, Charlie," she reassured him, shaking her head. _He_ still _worries about that._ "The _one time_ it hurt was only because I was too close to the headboard and nearly knocked myself out! I've learned to stay far enough away from it."

"Good," he mumbled on the edge of sleep.

She kissed him lightly on his forehead and ruffled his hair fondly. "Sweet dreams. I love you."

"Love you too," he murmured as she turned out the light.

They both were asleep within minutes.

* * *

He woke in darkness. For a moment, he wondered why.

Then he felt her hands on him.

And her mouth.

"Els…" he whispered, not fully awake. _Other_ parts of his body were rapidly coming to life. "Love, you don't have to…"

"Let me," she murmured, her breath warm on his belly and her hands sliding down his thighs. "I want to do this. Unless you don't want me to." She hovered above him, her silhouette barely visible.

"Of course I do," he replied. "I just never want you to feel you _have_ to."

"I don't." Her breath was so very warm. It almost tickled. "This is a gift."

"Oh _god_ ," he yelled. His hips jerked forward at the feel of her mouth.

How, _how_ did he get so lucky? His wife waking him in the middle of the night, not only to make love, but to love _him_ , give him pleasure until he thought he'd pass out from sheer euphoria. He was still shaking when she pulled him into her arms, laying his head against her chest.

Her heartbeat was steady. Strong.

The room was quiet, but he knew she was still awake.

"I know why you did it," he said. Her fingers stopped in his hair.

"Because I woke up, and wanted to give my husband a gift," she replied. His heart warmed at the soft sound of her lilt.

"Yes. But there's another reason," Charles did not speak above a whisper. "It's all right. I was thinking of them, too." He sighed. "Carpe diem, as the saying goes. Coming home and suggesting we play a game for the first time in ages – I guess it was my way of coping. And because I know you enjoy it," he pressed a soft kiss to her breast, feeling the scar that was still there.

Tears welled in Elsie's eyes. For the first time since Michael Gregson's death, Marigold was coming to stay at their house. She would spend Saturday with them, before Edith picked her up again at lunchtime on Sunday.

"I used to think that if I woke up, wanting you, that it could wait," she said thickly. "But now – I want to take every opportunity." She brushed a kiss on the top of his head. "I'm serious, Charlie, if you ever do _just_ want to sleep, tell me. I never want to force you."

"I will. I have before," he reminded her. "And you have the right to tell me no when I won't keep my hands off you."

"And I have. It doesn't happen often." They held each other, simply enjoying the feel of their arms around each other.

"What time is Edith coming?" She yawned. He blinked, and rolled onto his side, keeping her against his chest.

"Not until nine. She wanted to let us have a bit of a lie-in."

"Sorry to keep you awake," she murmured.

He pulled several strands of her hair over her ear. "Never apologize for that, Elsie Carson."

* * *

Pepper scratched the bedroom door. Charles kept his eyes shut, hoping their puppy was just waking up.

Then she whimpered from the floor, on his side of the bed.

Very reluctantly, he opened his eyes. It was still mostly dark, with only dim light peeking through the curtains.

 _7:01._

The clocks had gone forward the previous Sunday, so sunrise was later. Not that he wanted to be awake around sunrise on a Saturday at all.

Pepper whimpered again.

He knew that sound.

"Right, lass, I'm getting up," he unwound his arms from around Elsie. His wife lay sleeping, her deep breathing peaceful. He tucked the sheet and comforter around her and got up.

Pepper scampered down the hall while Charles shuffled behind her, still mostly asleep. He picked up discarded clothes on the floor and put them in the laundry basket on the washer.

He pulled on his boxers and stumbled across the living room to the back door where Pepper was waiting. Letting her outside, he leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to wake up fully.

The cold March air made him shiver.

Pepper lazily found a proper spot to do her business. He hoped she'd hurry – he wanted to be back in bed next to Elsie.

A loud whistle echoed across the backyard. Charles blinked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

 _Are the Beasleys' grandchildren visiting?_ The Carsons' next-door neighbor's house was quiet.

 _That came from the Mikulskis' yard…_

A bubble of laughter reached his ears, followed by an unmistakable wolf-whistle.

He turned in the direction of Cathy Mikulski's house. Her backyard bordered theirs. He could see Cathy's deck. Cathy, holding a coffee cup, had just come outside. Her college-aged daughter, whose name Charles couldn't remember, was laughing at something. She stood in between two young men, who looked similarly amused. One of them was Cathy's son – Jeff, he remembered suddenly. The other was her daughter's boyfriend. The boyfriend leaned over, saying something to Cathy, who laughed out loud. Jeff whistled again, an obnoxious sound. The others nearly fell over laughing. Charles frowned.

 _What's so_ _funny_ _?_

Pepper trotted over to a rosebush, and he called to her, hoping she was done. She started his direction, and he moved a little to open the door wider.

In the process, he looked down.

He wore nothing but his boxers.

In full view of the neighbors.

" _Shit!_ " he cried, trying to hustle the dog inside. He reached out his foot to move her along, and nearly fell over. His face burned. Pepper decided to run in between his legs (his horribly naked and exposed legs), and he bumped his shin against the doorframe when he tried to get out of her way.

He slammed the back door shut, trying to ignore the audible sound of clapping from the Mikulskis. Groaning, he covered his face.

He had never felt so embarrassed in his life.

 _Well, at least Elsie missed it. She'd never let me hear the end of it._

He filled Pepper's water dish and gave her some food before hurrying back to the bedroom. As he climbed back into bed, he was thankful his wife was still sound asleep.

* * *

Elsie whistled under her breath, blowing on her tea and reading the newspaper. Charles appeared in the kitchen. His hair was still wet from the shower.

"Good morning," she said. "You must have slept well. You didn't move when I got up."

"Of course I slept well," he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You were next to me. How did you sleep? Well?"

She gestured to the plate in front of her. "I did. Toast? The coffee should be done in a minute."

He picked up a piece and stuffed it in his mouth. "Thanks. Half past eight already? Edith and Marigold will be here soon."

Elsie glanced at her phone. "Actually, Edith texted me ten minutes ago and said they'd be a little later, 9:30, maybe. Marigold slept in a little longer, and she didn't want to rush her."

Charles nodded, yanking the Arts section of the paper in front of him. "Gives us time for a leisurely breakfast. I'll make omelets in a few minutes, if you like."

"That sounds good, thanks." Elsie blew on her tea, fighting a grin on her lips. She took a drink and felt the heat of the liquid warm her through. Getting up, she went over to the Keurig and poured a little bit of milk into the hazelnut coffee steaming from the cup. _Just the way he likes it._

She set the cup in front of him, and he muttered thanks, engrossed in whatever he was reading.

"I let Pepper outside when you were in the shower," she said quietly.

He didn't look up, but clutched the paper tighter. A red flush crept up the side of his neck.

She decided to put him out of his misery.

"Cathy was walking Lucy when I was outside," she said, referring to the Mikulski's dog, a Dachshund. "Of course she stopped to chat. They all were up early this morning because Jeff, Chrissy and Troy were leaving to drive to Florida for spring break." Her eyes danced in merriment. "Apparently you gave them _quite_ a show before they left."

He slumped in his chair and put his head down on the table. "I can't _believe_ I did that," he mumbled, his voice muffled,"…I might as well have walked outside with _no_ bloody clothes on!"

Elsie laughed heartily and put her arms around him. "You weren't completely starkers, Charlie…thank God," she hiccupped. "But as for the rest – well, they won't forget about it any time soon. The proper Mr. Carson, standing at his back door in nothing but his boxers! You certainly opened the young ones' eyes!"

Charles pushed himself up. "Well, that's it," he set his hands on the table. "We _have_ to find another house as soon as possible. I can't live in this neighborhood anymore, not with the humiliation."

Part of him knew he'd get over it in time, but at the moment his mortification was extreme.

"Oh, it's not as bad as that," Elsie said, squeezing his shoulder. "If anything, it made you a bit more human in their eyes. Cathy said she'd hardly ever seen you wearing _jeans_ outside, much less anything less than that. And I hate to pile on, but you'd have to know eventually. Chrissy already posted about it on Twitter and Facebook."

"WHAT!?" He roared, nearly knocking his coffee over. He caught the cup just in time, and winced as a little of the hot liquid sloshed over the rim onto his fingers. "Bloody _kids_ -"

"It's not a catastrophe," Elsie raised her eyebrows, still smiling. "None of them got a picture – fortunately for you," she sat in her chair and sipped more of her tea. "But she did describe it, and the comments are…well. Be prepared come Monday. I doubt many people will say something to you directly, but if you hear laughter outside your office-"

"Right," he growled. "Thirty years of my sterling reputation gone in two minutes."

Elsie showed him the tweet from Chrissy. "Nothing like seeing Mr. Carson in just his boxers to wake us up this AM! On to FL!" It was followed by several emoticons, including hearts and faces crying with laughter.

He calmed down a little after making omelets. There were so many worse things that could happen.

And thinking about it from the perspective of his younger neighbors, it was rather funny.

A little.

Still, he studied the real estate section with a bit more zeal as Elsie washed up. He had finally gotten to meet Mr. Pelham, and had gone to several house showings in the past couple of weeks. Nothing had really stood out to him or Elsie yet, but they knew as the weather got warmer, more homes would go on the market.

At nine-thirty, the doorbell rang. Pepper clicked her way to the front door while Elsie held her back.

"Come in! Good morning, Marigold," Elsie smiled at the little girl, ushering her gently through the door. Edith followed her daughter, carrying her bag.

"Good morning, Mrs. Carson. Hello, Carson," the Crawley's middle daughter shifted her keys in her hand. "Thank you so much for doing this. My university flatmate Laura has been helping me with the magazine for the last month, and I've decided to hire her as my new editor. She's fantastic, but I've got to get her up to speed on things."

"We're glad to have a visit from Marigold any time," Charles said softly. He was rewarded by a smile from the little girl, who had seated herself on the floor next to Pepper.

"I'm glad to hear you found someone you trust with the magazine," Elsie said. She was heartened by Edith's appearance. The young woman had lost a ghastly amount of weight since December, but she looked like she'd gained some of it back.

Edith nodded. "If I could be Manager-in-Chief as well as editor, I would. But it's impossible." Her dark eyes flicked to Marigold. "I'd never be able to sleep, much less do anything else. But I couldn't-" her breath wobbled, "I couldn't hand over the responsibility to just anyone. Michael worked so hard to make the magazine successful, and I will _not_ let it falter on my watch."

"Of course you won't," Elsie squeezed her arm. "You are looking better, dear."

"Thank you." Edith sniffed and crouched down next to her daughter. "Sweetheart, I have to go. Have fun with Uncle and Aunt Carson, and I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

"Can I see you tonight?" Marigold asked, hugging her mum. "Before I go to bed?"

"Absolutely. We'll FaceTime." Edith kissed her and stood up. "She's been doing so well, but the rare times we've been apart, she always wants to see me before she goes to sleep. Even if she stays with Mama and Papa."

"Whatever makes her comfortable," Charles assured her. "And happy."

To his surprise, a broad smile appeared on Edith's face, and her eyes twinkled. "I'm glad you both understand. As for me…well, I laughed this morning like I haven't laughed in months. You should let Pepper outside wearing your boxers more often, Carson. It really brightens everyone's morning."

Before he or Elsie could reply, she blew a kiss to Marigold and walked out.

* * *

"Could I have orange?" Marigold asked, painting enthusiastically at the table. A little _too_ enthusiastic, Charles thought, seeing paint all down her front and a smudge on her cheek. He was grateful Elsie had thought to put a smock on her before things got messy.

"Orange! _Again?_ " He teased, then set the bright color in front of her. He wasn't sure what the little girl was painting, but it was all bright colors – bright red, orange, vivid blue. He wiped his hands on a towel and hung it on the rack to dry, lunch being over and done.

Elsie continued to draw some kind of complicated pattern on her piece of paper, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I thought after we're finished, we could go to the park," she said, glancing up at Marigold. "The sun's out today. Would you like that? We'll take Pepper with us."

Marigold nodded, humming. They continued working away. Charles took a fresh piece of paper and went to sit down. His phone buzzed. Elsie gave him a look when he answered it.

 _No law work today! Not when we have a guest!_

She got a little more irritated when he got up from the table and went down the hall. But she didn't have long to wonder who had interrupted them.

"That was Mr. Pelham," Charles said, returning to the kitchen. "Apparently there are a couple of houses he'd like us to see. One family's gone for the weekend, so he thought it'd be the right time. The other house just went up for sale," he put his phone in his pocket. "It won't even go on the market until Monday."

"What did you tell him?" Elsie asked. She thought she already knew, and wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"I told him we'd meet him in half an hour," he said quietly. "Neither one is far to drive, and the second house is close to the park. We could see them, and still have time to go there for a good long while. Marigold," he addressed the girl before Elsie could say anything, "Would you like to go and look at houses with us?"

She looked up at him from her painting. "Okay."

 _Well, she didn't say no outright._

Elsie began gathering up the paints and brushes from the table. "How many houses are there? Two?" She did not think it was a good idea to drag Marigold all over town with them. Surely there would be a better time to go house-hunting.

"Just the two," Charles said under his breath. "I would have told him we'd see them later, but he seemed very enthusiastic. Do you think she'll be all right?"

"I suppose she'll have to be," Elsie sighed. She went to take off Marigold's smock.

Fifteen minutes later, they were all in the car, except for Pepper.

"We can't take her with us, not this time," Charles said. "I'm sorry." He glanced in the rearview mirror at Marigold, who sat quietly in her carseat.

"Lass, do you remember Uncle Carson and I are looking for a new house? One that's better for us and for our family. We need extra rooms for when you and Sybbie, George, Poppy and Sebastian visit, as well as one for Becky," Elsie turned around. They had never been able to have her sister stay overnight. She wanted _that_ to change as soon as possible.

"Uh huh," Marigold said. "And a swing."

Elsie and Charles exchanged smiles.

"Yes, a swing in the backyard is very important."

* * *

Bertie was waiting for them when they pulled up. He started to say something from the front stoop, but stopped when Elsie went to the backseat and lifted Marigold out. The three of them walked down the driveway, the little girl in between.

"Ah, I see you've brought an expert set of eyes," the young man smiled. He crouched down to Marigold's level. "I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Mr. Pelham."

"Hello," she said shyly, before hiding her face in Elsie's coat. Charles touched her on the head.

"This is Marigold Gregson, one of the little lights that brighten our days," he said. Bertie stood up and unlocked the front door, letting them in.

"You and Elsie talk about them all the time. It's nice to meet one of them." He followed them inside and let them wander, answering questions as they went.

The house was larger, with a huge family room that had windows overlooking the backyard. There was certainly enough room for guests, as well as space for when they had gatherings, but both Charles and Elsie felt like it was _too_ big.

"It's very nice," Elsie whispered when they were upstairs looking through the four bedrooms. "New. But it's…"

"Sterile?" Charles supplied. He gazed out at the backyard, with its new sod. "And you see that field behind? I'd bet a lot of money in five years that will be filled with houses. So no pretty view of those woods. Except for upstairs."

Bertie took them outside, where Marigold ran around the yard.

"There's no trees," she said bluntly, coming up to the three adults.

"No there isn't," Bertie said. "This is a nice big yard, though – do you like that?"

Marigold turned, spinning her arms, her purple jacket bright in the sunshine.

"Never mind," Elsie grinned. "Don't take it personally, Bertie, they all live in their own worlds at that age."

He nodded. "And her, more than other children," he said softly. "I…didn't want to bring it up in front of her," he lowered his voice, even though Marigold was a safe distance away, "But isn't she Michael Gregson's daughter? And Edith Crawley's?"

"She is," Charles said, crossing his arms. "I wasn't aware you knew them."

Bertie shook his head. "I don't. Not personally. But I've sold a couple of homes owned by employees of _The Sketch_ , and kept in touch. They've been terribly affected by Mr. Gregson's death. I cannot imagine what his widow is going through. I'm very sorry," he said, watching Marigold. "No child should have to go through that."

They walked slowly back to the house, and he answered a few more questions about it. Then they all left to go to the next house.

"Just one more house to see," Elsie said to Marigold as Charles turned onto the cul-de-sac. "Then we can go to the park."

They got out and walked onto the front porch of the house, Bertie right behind them. Pale green siding covered the building.

Charles read the sheet the agent gave him. "The house is only ten years old," he said. "And the seller refurbished the kitchen earlier this year? That's good."

"Lots of windows," Elsie commented, smiling as Marigold sat down on the porch swing. "I noticed the bay window when we drove up."

Bertie smiled. "It's one of the best features of the house. Wait till you see it from the inside."

"Who built this?" Charles asked. "Most of the homes on this street look similar, but this one doesn't."

"That's because it was custom-built," Bertie opened the front door. "There are a lot of features here you don't see everywhere. That's why I was so keen for you to see it before it goes on the market. I don't think it will stay there very long."

His phone rang as they were going in, so he gestured for them to continue on without him.

In the front hall, stairs divided the house. On either side of them, two archways led to the back. On the left side, there was a lovely sitting room overlooking the porch.

"We could put a library in here," Charles commented. He appreciated the built-in shelves. "It would be very cozy, don't you think?"

On the right, French doors led into the master suite. "I don't know about this," Elsie said, perusing the room. Marigold wandered into the walk-in closet. "The sheet said there are two additional bedrooms upstairs. When Becky comes to visit, she'd be alone up there."

Charles nodded. "That's something to consider, of course. But there _are_ advantages to us having a bedroom on the ground floor."

"Such as?"

"Fewer stairs to climb in the future. And," he wagged his eyebrows at her, "It would be easier to get here after playing board games. Did you notice the laundry room is right on the other side of the wall? We could drop our clothes in there on our way to bed-"

"Charlie, _shhh!_ " Elsie reddened as Marigold walked past them and into the master bath. They heard the little girl say something, then laugh.

"What is it?" Elsie asked, poking her head in.

"It echoes in here!" she said, looking around at the tile floor, the large shower, and the even larger tub. Charles leaned in the doorway.

"Yes it does," his voice boomed across the floor. Marigold gave him a toothy grin. "You and all your cousins, including Aunt Mary's soon-to-be born baby, could easily fit in the tub." He also thought both he and Elsie could fit in there together. From the look on her face, she thought the same thing.

They walked back through the French doors and climbed the stairs. To Charles and Elsie's surprise, the space opened up before them, showing a loft. The current owners of the home had already put some of their belongings in storage, leaving the upstairs mostly unfurnished.

"What is this space?" Charles asked, walking forward. Light fell in the bright room. Elsie shook her head in wonder.

"It could be any number of things," she said. "An office, a sewing room-" She thought she might like to take up such an activity once she retired. Her eyes widened, thinking of Becky. "An art room, or maybe a playroom."

She had been far too practical to let herself get attached to any other house before. But she found herself picturing their family in there. Marigold marched around the perimeter of the loft. Charles opened two doors on their right.

"Bedrooms," he said, letting Elsie look in. "Small, but they could fit queen beds at least. Or two twins." A bathroom was on the left, complete with a regular tub and showerhead. Elsie came out of it and saw Charles with a look on his face she couldn't describe.

"What?" she asked. Silently, he pointed to the front of the house. Marigold sat on a window seat in the bay window, humming "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

Elsie moved to join her, almost in a daze. She sat down near the humming girl and looked outside. Big pear trees, not yet budded, were in the front yards of the homes across the cul-de-sac. She knew once spring and summer came, there would be plenty of green to enjoy.

But the window seat…it was _huge_. Long enough, and wide enough, for even her Charlie to lay down. She met his soft eyes, her own rather watery.

"The Cottage," she whispered. "My God, it's _perfect_."

"I know," he said, taking her hand. They both were quiet, remembering the window seat at the cottage on the Biltmore Estate, where they'd spent their honeymoon. Elsie cleared her throat.

"Marigold?" She asked. "What do you think? Do you like the window seat?"

"Uh huh," Edith's daughter nodded, staring at something out the window. "I can see the cars from here!"

The two adults looked to where she pointed, to the main street at the end of the cul-de-sac.

"I see you've found one of the best parts of the house," Bertie said behind them. Elsie quickly rearranged her face into something more neutral. She did not want to be obvious about her partiality.

But she knew, and she was fairly certain Charles did too, that they had found a place they could call home.

"I'm sorry I took so long," Bertie apologized. "Have you seen everything then?"

"No, we haven't," Charles said, helping Elsie up. He turned just in time to catch Marigold, who had taken a flying leap off the window seat. "Whoa, missy! No jumping!" He lowered her to the floor and covered her small head, his fingers draped over her eyes. She giggled. "No jumping off the window seat, is that clear?" he asked in a light tone, though he was serious. She nodded and went down the stairs with them.

On the ground floor, the back of the house was taken up by the kitchen and family room. The kitchen was an open space with an island and three bar stools. On the far side of the family room was a handsome brick fireplace.

"Is it gas?" Charles asked, bending over. He knew the answer before Bertie told him.

"No. It takes wood only. Very old-fashioned," the agent joked, grinning at Elsie.

"So nothing like you, Charlie," she teased her husband, running her hand down his arm.

"Can I go outside?" Marigold asked. She was mesmerized, looking out the patio doors.

Elsie came up behind her and unlocked them. " _May_ I. And yes, you may. I think we'll join you."

The fenced backyard was not large, but there was a patio with nice landscaping around the edges. Two trees marked either side near the back. Beneath one was an iron-rod bench. Hanging from the other was-

"A swing! A _swing_!" Marigold tore out the door, across the patio, and was on the wooden swing before any of the adults had crossed the patio.

"I think she's excited," Charles said drily. "I don't know that I've ever heard her shout like that. Sybbie and Poppy, yes, but not sweet Marigold!"

Bertie answered a few of their questions, then looked at his phone. "I've got to return a call, so how about I meet you all back on the front porch?" he asked. "Take your time, though. The family's moved out of state, and Mrs. Henderson won't be back here until Wednesday." He walked back into the house.

Charles and Elsie sat on the bench. Marigold had gotten herself moving, and was blissfully swinging across from them.

"It's a narrower yard, but a cricket match could easily be held here," Charles leaned forward, his hands folded. At Elsie's raised eyebrow, he held up a hand. "I know, I know – the batsmen would have to face _away_ from the house. Otherwise, we'd be assured of broken windows."

"Is this it, Charlie?" She asked, keeping her voice low. It seemed impossible on the one hand. They'd only been properly looking at houses for a month. But this place was so right…

He took her hand. "It is if you want it to be. I like it," he shook his head. "No. I _love_ it. I feel like this was always meant to be _our_ home. I never would have looked at it alone."

So many memories rushed through his mind. So many thoughts. Of the lives they had both shared, of their time spent apart. Of the time ahead of them. First his retirement, then when Elsie was ready, hers. Becky visiting, staying overnight. Pepper exploring the backyard, Spike the inside. Their "spirit-children", the lights of their lives, playing in the loft upstairs and outside. Gatherings with friends and colleagues – not colleagues anymore, he thought, not most of them. Family.

Living, really _living_ his life with the woman he adored.

"Charlie?" Elsie touched his face, worried at the tears in his eyes. He smiled, pressing her hand to his cheek.

"You've made this possible," he said, mindful of Marigold nearby. "All of it. I'm so glad you agreed to marry me, do you know that?"

"I do," she leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss. "I thought you'd _never_ ask. But you did. I never wanted to be anyone else's wife. Just yours."

"You've given me a family," he squeezed her hand.

Now it was her turn to get teary. "Oh, you've done your part," she said. "Half of our family was yours before they were mine."

"The Crawley half," he joked, and they chuckled.

"We haven't made a family in the traditional way," she said, snuggling up next to him. "But I am so grateful for the one I have with you." She glanced at the house. "This is home. This is the one I want."

He kissed her as a breeze rustled through the grass, and Marigold sang as she sailed through the air, holding tight to the ropes on the swing.


	13. Snowed In

**A/N: This chapter is first, and foremost, a birthday present for the lovely ChelsieSouloftheAbbey. She asked specifically for "Snowed-in Chelsie. MARRIED."**

 **Well, I happen to have this long-running fic with most of those details…just the snowed-in part was missing. Send her birthday wishes, and thank her for being such a great member of this fandom! She is a wonderful person, very kind and generous, and deserves all the good things this world can give.**

 **There is a nod to another fandom in this chapter, to the show Lovejoy. I simply couldn't resist adding one of my favorite characters to this chapter. It's a small nod, but it's there. To those of you who may have seen that Phyllis Logan show, enjoy!**

 **A small section of this chapter is to satisty chelsie-prompts challenge "Cocoa".**

 **And last but not least, a disclaimer. CSotA and I have a maddening habit of writing fics (without the other knowing) that weirdly mirror each other. This chapter is a victim of that. In my defense, I started writing this several weeks ago and didn't tell her** _ **anything**_ **(because birthday surprise), only to find out two days ago that the Borg fandom brain had happened AGAIN. The use of Dan Fogelberg's song "Same Old Auld Lang Syne" here is purely coincidental.**

 **I think. I'm beginning to have doubts…**

* * *

 **April 2017**

The move to their new home happened so fast it almost felt like a dream.

Or, as Charles told Elsie, it happened like everything in their shared life together was falling into place. Like it was meant to be.

The former owners of their new house, the Hendersons, had already moved out of state. They were delighted to get an offer so soon, and accepted the Carsons' second offer within twenty-four hours of receiving it after only countering once.

Charles and Elsie's former house had been on the market barely a month, and had no offers yet, though there had been interest. Charles fretted that they would not be able to sell it quickly.

It was Mary who came to their rescue. Charles Blake, a university acquaintance of hers, had recently returned from a job overseas and was looking for a place to live. He was not ready to buy a home yet, but the Carsons agreed to rent him their old one for a year. The younger man would do some improvements on the house while he was living there. Then they would put it on the market again.

Charles and Elsie closed on their new house on the first Wednesday in April. Charles took Thursday off to supervise the movers in the morning, and Elsie took a half-day. They stayed up late setting up the kitchen before falling asleep in their new bedroom to the sound of rain on the roof.

* * *

He woke slowly in the dark room. Drifting out of sleep into awakening. His eyes were closed but even so, he felt the newness, the strangeness of their home.

Not _everything_ was strange, of course.

Elsie lay in his arms, still deep in sleep. Her breath came out in little puffs on her pillow. The familiar sound made Charles smile.

He shifted slightly, the comforter sliding off his shoulder. His phone was on the edge of the bed.

 _5:56._

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye.

 _Why am I awake so early?_

The movers, thankfully, had done all of the heavy lifting the day before. But moving boxes and putting away all of their kitchen paraphernalia, as well as moving other boxes to make sure they had paths throughout the house, had given Charles aching muscles. He felt better than he had the night before, just a little stiff, but he had expected to sleep straight through to the alarm.

The heater kicked on.

There was a ribbon of light on the floor, making its way through the curtains. It looked entirely too bright considering how early it was.

He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake his wife. The sight outside made him gasp.

Snow.

 _Snow._

And not just a light dusting or heavy flakes floating in the air (though there were a lot of those). Snow completely covering the street and yards around, leaving mounds on top of cars and trash bins.

Charles was still staring at the brightness outside when Pepper brushed against his leg. He flinched, looking down, and suddenly felt the chill through the window.

At least they knew their furnace worked…not that they had much doubt on that. It was new, and in excellent condition.

 _But…but…snow in APRIL!?_

They had had the occasional flurry, or cold spell that occurred in early spring. But what was going on outside was something he could not remember happening for _years_.

Pepper whined, her cold nose against his ankle. He knew that sound.

He pulled the curtains a little farther apart to see into the room, without turning the light on. Thankfully, the second box he opened had more of his winter clothes inside. He grabbed an old cardigan and one of the pairs of jeans Elsie had insisted on buying him for Christmas. He had wanted to argue with her (he simply did _not wear jeans_ ), but when she told him how good he looked in them, he gave in and kept them.

How could he say no to a woman who told him how much she admired his bottom?

As he buttoned the cardigan over his t-shirt, he glanced at Pepper. He did not want a repeat of what had happened earlier at their old home, but he had a feeling it was much colder outside than it had been the day he'd embarrassed himself in front of the Mikulskis.

The dog did not want to go outside.

She sat down on his feet when he cracked open the back door. Marigold's swing and the bench in their backyard were covered with several inches of white. The wind whipped against his legs, and the snow swirled thick and fast around them. Charles shivered.

"Come on," he murmured, trying to move Pepper forward. She whimpered, clearly not wanting to leave him. "I know you have to go. If this were a normal day in April, you would have no problem, but it is what it is."

And as much as he loved her, he was not willing to let her do her business inside in their new house.

Eventually he had to get her leash and pull her outside. She did what she had to as quickly as possible, but even so, both of them were nearly frozen after he'd picked her up and waded through the mound of snow on the patio and through the back doors back into the family room.

He found an old towel and dried their puppy off in the laundry room. He put food and fresh water in her dish, and in Spike's. His snow-soaked shoes were left to drip-dry on another towel.

There were two messages on his phone, and a missed call from Mary.

 _Mary Crawley to Charles Carson, 5:59_

 _I will not be coming in today. Georgie's school is closed, and I haven't had a decent night's sleep in months. Matthew is planning on being at the office as soon as he clears the driveway._

He quickly sent her a reply. There was no need for her to push herself. She hadn't listened to him when he told her she could start her maternity leave early, but she insisted on working as long as possible.

She had delivered George early, but her unborn daughter was nearly ten days late.

 _Robert Crawley to Charles Carson, 6:07_

 _Cora got a call from a nurse friend of hers working the night shift. The roads are awful. Will probably be late coming in – Tom's brother is bringing his truck over here._

He fumbled with the TV, making a mental note to figure out the cable later. The local news reports were full of horrific car accidents, school closings, and weather reports predicting record snow. And dire warnings saying _if you don't have to be somewhere, STAY HOME._

He had been planning on going into the office for a few hours to get a little work done. It would do no good to fall too far behind; if things piled up, he'd have to bring work home, and he was less and less inclined to do that.

He glanced around the box-strewn family room.

Not a sound came from the master bedroom.

 _6:16._

It took the managing partner of Carson, Crawley & Bates all of two seconds to make his decision.

He initiated the emergency calling tree, calling Robert first. Then he called Violet.

"I'm glad you came to your senses," she told him. "One day every decade or so of closing the office will not sink us. While I have every faith in my _own_ ability to drive through a snowstorm, I have little faith in my fellow man to do so. It's best for everyone to be safe."

Robert would call John, and so on down the line. Violet would call Isobel and the city office would be notified.

But Charles called Thomas, then Beryl, himself.

Mr. Barrow seemed confused as to why _Mr._ Carson was calling him, and not _Mrs._ Carson. But he took the news of the firm's closed status with surprise and not too much evident glee (though Charles was convinced the younger man was dancing a jig inside) and promised to notify the support staff assigned to him.

The records clerks supervisor was happy. "I am glad," she confessed. "We're fairly stuck here, and Bill didn't even want to try to clear our road until the snow stops. But if I may, why are _you_ calling me, Mr. Carson? Usually it would be Elsie doing this."

To no one but Beryl would he tell the real truth.

"She's still asleep. I didn't have the heart to wake her yet. She worked very hard yesterday supervising the movers, and unpacking the kitchen."

"I see," she paused. He could practically hear the wheels spinning in her head. "So you closed the office both out of concern for everyone's welfare, as well as giving your wife a nice day off to settle in, but mostly to give both of you the opportunity to enjoy each other in your new love nest!"

He was entirely too used to her teasing, but he couldn't help being baited. "Mrs. _Mason_ -" he sputtered, but she only laughed at him.

"Have a nice day, Mr. Carson. Ooh, it's a Friday, too! Well done there, a long weekend! Don't worry, I'll ring Mr. Molesley and the rest of them."

And she hung up before he could say another word.

He stood in the middle of the family room, his eyes on the empty fireplace.

 _You know that's why you_ _really_ _closed the office. You couldn't resist Elsie, sitting in front of the fire with a glass of wine. That contented smile on her face…_

He sent an email blast to everyone in the firm, even the part-time workers, telling them to stay home and stay safe.

He was very glad the Hendersons had left some firewood. He stacked some of it on the hearth, trying not to make too much of a mess, mindful of the boxes all over the family room. Then he returned to the bedroom. He switched off Elsie's alarm on her phone, glad to have caught it before it went off. Removing his socks, he climbed back into bed and laid down next to his wife.

She wore a slight smile on her face, as if she were having some lovely dream. Her left hand lay close to her face and her ring glinted next to the red and grey strands of hair on her pillow.

He watched her sleep for a long time until his own eyes grew heavy. The only time he woke was when he heard a thump, and he raised his head. Spike jumped from a box then left the room through the open door.

Charles woke slowly again, feeling refreshed. He brushed his fingers softly against Elsie's cheek, feeling like his heart would overflow.

 _Our first day in our home. Together._

 _There is nowhere I would rather be._

According to his phone, it was nearly half past eight.

"Elsie," he whispered, leaving light kisses on her hair and on her face. "Elsie, love, wake up."

"Mmmm." She turned her face further into his touch.

It felt delicious, this wonderful feeling of warmth and contentment. Faintly, she knew her alarm would go off soon, but she wanted to prolong the sensation of being half in sleep and half awake, as much as possible.

The fact that Charlie was trying to wake her so gently made her love him all the more.

"Els," her husband's voice murmured. She could hear him smiling. "Mrs. Hughesss…"

His calling her by her former name nearly made her smile. It brought to mind hours spent in his office or hers, sparring over the traditional legal culture, and falling in love with each other without either of them realizing it.

"Good morning to you," she whispered sleepily, her eyes blinking open finally. The light was strong in the room, peeking through the curtains. "Och…did I oversleep?" Her eyes widened in panic. "You should have woken me sooner!"

She threw the comforter back and sat up. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, unconcerned. Vaguely, she wondered why he was wearing clothes instead of his pajamas.

"I closed the office."

"What! Why?" Why hadn't he woken her up?

"Because it's snowing like Christmas outside, and the roads are horrible." He kissed her temple, pulling strands of hair from her face.

"It never is," she muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "You're a horrible liar, Charlie. Besides, it barely snowed _on_ Christmas-"

He let go of her, grinning as she marched to the window and threw the curtains open. It was too funny to see her stupefied expression, and he barely managed to keep from laughing out loud.

"You see?" He got up, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on the top of her head.

It was a whirl of white outside, the flakes coming down so fast their neighbor's house across the street was difficult to see. A thick white carpet blanketed the yards, driveways, and street. Any tracks that might have been made by cars had long since been covered.

"I can't believe it," she said, her eyes wide. "It was a bit cold yesterday, but I never thought…was snow predicted?"

The move had distracted her from paying attention to much else.

"Flurries were, yes. Anything more than that, no. All the schools are out, and the local authorities are urging everyone to stay home." He ran his hands up and down her sides, feeling her shiver.

"So you closed the office. Both of them."

"Yes. I thought it best for everyone to be safe. I rang Beryl and Mr. Barrow too, so everyone in the calling tree was contacted. I'd know by now if they weren't."

She nodded, hearing him, but her thoughts far away. Thinking of snowy winters in Scotland, of chasing Becky through thigh-high drifts. Of scraping off her car one winter outside of Carson, Crawley & Bates. Feeling wet and half-frozen.

Of the Christmas Eve when Charles had proposed. There had been snow that night. Falling softly while he knelt in front of her.

And now he stood behind her, keeping her warm while they watched the snow fall outside.

 _Our first day in our new house, and it's a snow day!_

She was delighted. For more than one reason.

"What time is it?" She murmured.

"Um…about a quarter till nine, I think." He started to turn around to check, but she grabbed his hands, keeping them on her waist.

"Did you let Pepper out?"

"Early this morning. She didn't like the cold. And yes, I dried her off in the laundry room when I came back in," he dipped his head to kiss her cheek.

"Thank you. And thank you for closing the office and ringing the others, even if you didn't consult _me_." A corner of her mouth turned up, a slight grin.

"I _was_ thinking of you, as it happens." He felt the familiar stirring low at the sight and feel of her. She'd been too tired to search for a nightgown the previous night, so she wore one of his old white t-shirts. It was so faded he could see the outline of her nipples through it. Her hair was tousled.

She turned into him, her hands moving to his chest. They kissed quietly. Lips pressing, moving. Opening, tongues tasting each other. His stubble scratched her face.

The only sounds were the low hum from the vent and the moan of the wind outside.

Elsie grabbed Charles's left hand on her waist and pressed it onto her breast, the soft flesh. He moaned and pressed his other hand into the small of her back. Sliding down, his fingers clutched her bottom. She gasped at the contact and he stumbled backwards, sitting down on the bed. She straddled his lap and they continued kissing, her hands making his curly hair wild. His hands roamed freely over her naked legs and against her back, pulling her closer into him.

She unceremoniously ripped off her shirt and let him caress her breasts.

Her breathing was rather ragged.

"I thought," he whispered, nibbling her ear, "we could take advantage of the weather and stay home together."

His jeans were beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

"Oh, I see-Mr. Carson," she stuttered, leaning back and unbuttoning his cardigan. He shrugged out of it as she pulled the sleeves from his arms. " _That_ was what you really wanted!"

"Is it not what the office manager wants?" His voice was little more than a rumble, his eyes devouring her. Elsie bit back a whimper.

"I love you," she whispered. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, grazing her teeth along his bottom lip. He fell backwards onto the bed and she fell on top of him. They broke apart briefly, but she continued to kiss the managing partner until he gasped for air.

"Give me a moment, young woman," he laughed a little at their mutual hunger. _Like a crazed pair of youngsters who can't keep our hands off each other!_

She slid further down his lap while he sat up, trying to remove his t-shirt. She giggled at her fumbling and his insistence on doing nothing, letting her pull the shirt over his head.

"You can be very lazy – when you want to be!"

The shirt didn't quite make it over his head.

"I can't see you." His voice was muffled, his face entirely covered. Still laughing, she yanked the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. She was on her knees with her head a little higher than his.

"There, it's off," she cupped his chin playfully. "No thanks to you…why do you like to let me do all the work?"

As the words left her mouth, she realized the answer to her question.

Her breasts were right in front of his face.

Elsie huffed out a breath, half amused and half rolling her eyes. "As my best friend would say, 'Men!'! Do you all really think of nothing else?"

"Not when there are such lovely ones in front of me," he smirked. Dipping his head, he drew the right one into his mouth, gently teasing her nipple into a hardened peak, and kissing her scar. Elsie sucked in a breath so fast it sounded like a hiss.

"Oh _god_ , Charlie-" She lost her breath as he lavished tender attention on her sensitive skin. He leaned back against the pillows. With every hum, every flick of his tongue, she got more and more aroused.

She adored it, his teasing and tormenting her like this.

Her sighs and little moans were driving him crazy. Reluctantly, he pushed on her thigh to get her to move off of him. He hated the loss of her warmth, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He removed his jeans and boxers in record time. When they sat together again in the middle of the bed, their kisses ever more passionate, it took all of his will power to break their embrace, one hand on her back and the other holding her face.

"Wait."

"Wha-what?" She gasped, her chest heaving. Her face was flushed and her lips were swollen.

"Lay down." Elsie did so, reaching up to pull him on top of her, but he evaded her. He pulled off her underwear much slower than she thought was necessary.

"Charlie…" she raised herself on her elbows. "What _are_ you doing?"

He grinned at her and went on all fours above her. He barely grazed her lips with his, then bent and kissed her neck.

"Loving you." His breath was warm. Even more so when he murmured against her belly. She squealed, his silver curls soft beneath her fingers.

Her body was trembling. She knew, she _knew_ where he was going, and the anticipation alone was almost enough to send her over the edge.

"You don't have to do this," she breathed, laying back against the pillows as he left a slow kiss just above where the hair of her mound began.

"I want to." His breath was warm against her hip. He swirled his tongue at the place where her thigh and abdomen met, his gentle hands moving her legs apart.

She melted into the touch of his lips on her sex. She tried not to push his head any farther forward, mindful of his stubble, but the way his nose brushed against her nub-

"Mo chridhe, _yes_ ," she cried out, arching into him. "There, _y-e-e-e-s-s_ -"

His expert lips in her soft folds, what was he _doing_ to her, his tongue drawing her nub further into his sweet mouth. A shower of swearing and Gaelic erupted from her until she reached her peak, and she came hard into his mouth, her voice echoing in their bedroom.

He adored it when she came undone like this. No restraint, nothing held back. He swore under his breath when she flinched, knowing the roughness on his chin was to blame, but was elated when she pushed on the back of his head, her fingers clutching his hair.

Burying his face between her thighs, he lapped at her as she thrust her hips forward again.

She was singing, one hand holding him to her sex, the other twisted in her own hair. The _feel_ of him, just there. The wanting, the need for him, always sated yet never enough.

 _Yes, my love, yes, my husband, my only love. What you do to me, no one else could do._

Her throat felt dry when she fell backwards once more and he rose up on his knees, his hands caressing her thighs. He smiled at her, and it widened when he realized she couldn't speak. His lips were wet.

He laid down next to her, kicking away the tangled comforter, and held her as she shook, coming down from her high.

To see her darkened eyes, her red flushed face was enough to keep him aroused.

More so when she wrapped her hands around his sex, and began a slow rhythm up and down the warm skin, his hardening manhood. Charles left out a soft groan.

"Do you like this?" She asked in a seductive purr after several minutes of his panting.

"Y-yes," he ground out. " _God_ , Elsie, yes, so good…"

"I want you," she swallowed, feeling him jerk forward as her pace increased. "I love you, my man." She reached up and brushed her fingers over his chest, through his silver hair there, coming to rest on the scar over his heart. "Always."

She felt tears in her eyes, desire and love mingled.

"I love you," he murmured, curving his fingers along her jaw and kissing her.

"Touch me," she whispered. Even as she said so, he slid his hands from her face and down, stopping momentarily to cup her breasts and rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. Her breath hitched. He dipped one single finger into her sex, feeling the wetness, and she moaned.

"I want you," she repeated, pulling him on top of her. " _Please_." His erection was hard against her belly.

"How?" he managed to gasp between frantic kisses. Her legs fell open.

"Here, Charlie," she begged, both of them desperate to join. "Inside me, I want you _inside_ , all of you-"

He breathed out as he slid into her. Slowly moving in and out, increasing the friction, loving the feel of her wetness, her tightness, drawing him in.

Bringing him home.

He tried to hold on, but she felt _so_ good, and when she set her feet down on either side of his torso, he cried out and began to pound into her.

" _Yes_ , Elsie!" he yelled, their bodies molding into one.

 _My darling, my other half, my love. Yes, my sweet, yes, my fair wife, there is no one else I could ever want._

"Harder," her breath was hot on his shoulder. She marked his collarbone, her fingers digging into his back. "Take me, my man. I am yours - _harder_ , oh god, _yes_ , there, just there, ah-h-h-h-h-"

Closer, closer, until there was no way they could be any closer. She felt her sex pulse around his, the singular feeling of him inside her.

Home at last.

He roared above her, feeling her climax. His heart exploded when she screamed her release. They came together, fiery lovers, murmuring into each other's mouths, sweat beading on her breasts and mingling with the damp hair on his chest.

 _Again, my love. Stay with me._

She was so much smaller than he, and yet they fit together perfectly. He reveled in the strength of her need for him. The way she held nothing back.

 _That has never been her way._

His office manager had always been honest with him. Told him what she thought. Pushed him, sometimes further than he had felt comfortable. But never so far to break his will. She respected him too much to do that.

As his wife, as his woman, it was the same.

She loved the way he gasped her name. The way he touched her, loved her, until she wept with desire for him, then gave her everything. All of himself.

 _You always have._

The managing partner had been a good man to work for because of his standards. He never asked for anything that he was not willing to do himself. He had listened to her and sometimes overruled her, but he had never disparaged her. He trusted her completely.

As her husband, her man, nothing had changed.

They kissed, noses rubbing against each other, hands in hair. Finally, Charles slipped out of her and grabbed the comforter, pulling it over them. It took a long time for both of them to get their breath back.

She felt very warm and blissful, cuddled against him.

"I love you." Her voice was hoarse. She trailed her fingers over his lips. He kissed them.

"I love you," he murmured. Wrapping his arms around her, he glanced towards the brightness outside. "It's quite cold out. It'd be cold for February, never mind now."

"I'm glad we don't have to go anywhere today," she mumbled underneath his chin. "We should send Bertie something next week – how many real estate agents would stock the refrigerator as a housewarming gift? He's wonderful!"

"That he is."

On the other side of the window the snow continued to come down.

* * *

After getting up (the second time, for Charles), they both showered, reveling in the size of the master bathroom.

"Marigold was right," Elsie commented as she finished showering, and Charles shaved. "There _is_ an echo in here!"

She made coffee and tea, then made scrambled eggs on toast while he stacked wood in the fireplace. A fire blazed merrily by the time they sat down on the bar stools next to the island.

"I like how open this room is. We can extend the kitchen table when we have guests," Elsie blew on her tea. "And it is nice having a fire. It's quite cozy."

Charles smiled, scrambled eggs on his fork. "It's much better having a _real_ fire. A gas fire has heat, yes, but it's not the same thing." As if to prove his point, the fire snapped behind him.

"Oh wonderful!" She rolled her eyes. "You're going to be a fire snob from now on!" She shook her head, laughing at him.

"You know you love it," he bit into his toast. "The fire."

She arched an eyebrow, turning to look at the crackling flames behind them.

" _Almost_ as much as I love you."

He went to work in the library after breakfast, unpacking the boxes there and organizing many of their books. Not all of them would go in the room across from the master bedroom (and indeed, not all of them would fit on the shelves), but he relished the task of seeing where everything went. Where the books fit.

She went upstairs to unpack one of the bedrooms upstairs. It seemed incredible, considering the weather, that Easter was little more than a week away.

Becky would be their guest and would spend Saturday night at their house.

Elsie hummed as she hammered nails and hung pictures on the walls. One was an old photo, a black-and-white picture of the farm in Scotland. Another was a drawing Becky loved, purchased from a local artist. It was of a calico cat winding its way through a patch of daffodils.

She smiled as she hung the photo of her and Becky together at her wedding. There was a double bed in this room, and twin beds in the other bedroom upstairs. No doubt others would sleep in this particular room, but she and Charles wanted to make at least one of the guest rooms more "Becky's", so their sister would feel at home whenever she stayed with them.

She was vacuuming when her husband came upstairs.

"Oh!" She put a hand to her chest when she saw him leaning in the doorway. "I didn't see you there! Thank you for bringing the sheets up. They can go in the linen closet in the hall."

"Do you need me to help you make the bed?" He asked. "I thought I'd come up and see what you've done."

"Sure," she took some of the linens from him. "The pillows are in the closet. You can put the rest of the sheets in there, too."

He came back to the room and helped her spread the fitted sheet over the mattress cover. Spike ambled into the room and jumped onto the bed. Charles groaned.

"Get off," he pushed the cat, hoping he'd move, but the obstinate feline only rolled over and blinked at him. "Spike! We're making the bed here! Go somewhere else!"

"Come on, you," Elsie dropped the corner of the sheet and leaned over, picking the cat up. She rubbed his ears. He purred and nestled into her as she petted him. "You're a good boy, but now is not the time to jump on the bed." She let him go, and he dropped to the floor. Charles rolled his eyes as he quietly laid down next to the bedside table.

"He never listens to me. He's definitely _your_ child."

"You can't shout at him, Charlie. He won't listen-"

"I was not shouting!"

"Our next-door neighbors would disagree," she pursed her lips, her eyes twinkling. "Let's finish here, and you can show me your progress downstairs."

"This is really lovely," he said as they finished. His eyes lit up as she plumped the pillows and put them on the bed. "This is definitely Becky's room. When the children come to visit, they can stay in the other room."

"Unless we have more than two of them at once," Elsie said. "Then some of them will have to sleep in here."

"We won't worry about that now." He put an arm around her and kissed her. "Speaking of the children, Anna sent you a video earlier. I thought you'd like to see it."

"I do indeed," she took her phone from him and watched it. They both laughed watching John sled down a hill at the park by their house with Poppy and Sebastian.

"It's a good thing John was on the sled too," Charles chuckled. "There's so much snow the kids together wouldn't be able to move it themselves!"

Elsie's goddaughter waved enthusiastically at the end of the video. "Hi, Nana Elsie! Hi, Papa Carson!"

"Do you like the snow?" Anna's voice was heard. John picked up Sebastian, who was trying to eat snow. The tiny boy looked very confused about the amount of white on the ground and in the air. It almost buried him.

Poppy nodded. "Yeah…Sebastian likes it too. But he can't walk in it. There's too much for him."

"There's plenty of fun for you," John covered the top of his daughter's head with his hand. He grinned at the camera, looking at Anna. "And for us. Though _some_ of us are getting cold," he raised his eyebrows.

"John Bates, are you making fun of me?" Anna asked. She would have sounded angry if she hadn't laughed. She moved the camera down, showing all the layers of clothing she was wearing. "It's not fair – I've been standing here getting you all on camera, while you've been carrying the kids and the sled up and down the hill fifty times!"

There were other pictures and videos on social media for the Carsons to see. Robert, Tom and Cora with George and Sybbie; Edith and Marigold with their little schnauzer Max. Jimmy and Thomas drinking hot mulled wine on their balcony. Andy had somehow made it to Daisy's apartment, and there was an album of pictures of them attempting to dig out her car.

In another short video on Facebook, Joe laughed when Phyllis walked out of their front door, only to slip and fall sprawling into a huge heap of snow.

"You knew how slippery it was out here, and you _still_ let me walk outside!?" She huffed, her hat askew. Still, she grinned. "What kind of a husband are you?"

"The kind who will walk behind you," Joe said. The shot of the camera showed him walking out their front door, only to fall sideways. Everything went blurry and white. "Oops – see, I told you! Is my phone okay?" He brushed it off, his forehead visible. "Yep, still going!"

"I have to give it to Mr. Molesley," Charles said, wiping his eyes. "Not only did he keep his word and walk outside, he posted the video himself. He didn't leave it to Phyllis."

"He never does take himself too seriously," Elsie smiled. She checked her news feed once more. Everyone's status was what she expected. Surprise over the snow, delight over a rare day off, some concerns about traveling. Isobel rarely posted on Facebook except to share pictures of George and the other children, but she'd posted barely ten minutes earlier.

 _This day is full of surprises! – feeling blessed._

"Els? Do you want to see the library?"

"I certainly do," she said, putting her phone in her pocket and following Charles out of the bedroom. He stopped for a moment to look at the boxes around the window seat. Snow still drifted in the air through the window, but it had definitely slowed down.

"Oh," Elsie said, waving in the direction of the boxes, "I thought I would put some of Becky's books, and the children's, on those shelves underneath the window seat, along with some of the games. The rest can go in the playroom."

The large space taking up the back of the upstairs was to be set aside as a space for when the Carsons would have younger guests.

"That's a good idea," he nodded as they went down the stairs. "I think some of Sybbie's books are mixed in downstairs…I haven't quite gotten through all of them yet."

The built-in shelves in the library were a little over halfway filled. The ones that weren't had books stacked on them, in some semblance of order. Elsie stifled a laugh.

 _This is so like him. So meticulous, always._

A small oval picture of Mary and Matthew that he'd had for years was on one side of a shelf, countered by Elsie's favorite picture of Anna and John.

Her heart melted when she saw the desk. He'd carefully arranged several pictures on it. There was one of Beryl and Bill, another of Robert and Cora. But in between those were pictures of them. At Pedro's, at their wedding. There was one of them at the Biltmore that a friendly guest had taken of them in front of the mansion.

In pride of place was their official wedding picture. Them in front of the altar in the church, the afternoon light pouring in one window.

Her husband radiated joy, his beaming face delighted. She had to remind herself that the ravishing woman in the picture was her – her wedding day was the happiest day of her life, and it showed.

"Oh Charlie," she whispered, "This is perfect."

"We both can use the desk whenever we need to," he kissed the top of her head, rubbing her shoulders. "I thought some of our favorite pictures should be in here."

"We could fill all the shelves with nothing but pictures, never mind books," she laughed. "A lot of them will have to go upstairs or in the family room."

He started to reply but stopped when they both heard the sound of a phone ringing.

"That's yours," she said, checking hers. "Where is it?"

His eyes widened. "Um…"

They both scrambled around the room, looking on stacks of books and stumbling over empty boxes, trying to find the source of the sound. On the very last ring, he found it, forgotten on an upper shelf.

"Hello?" He asked, slightly out of breath. He'd been so concerned with answering he hadn't checked to see who it was.

"Carson?" It was Mary.

"Yes, I'm here," he said, glad to hear his goddaughter's voice. "How are you? I expect you've had a relaxing day, staying in."

"I wouldn't say that," her voice sounded drier than usual. And more scratchy. "It's been the farthest thing from relaxing, actually."

"Why?" He picked up a few pens on top of the desk and put them in a drawer.

"Well, I started having contractions around seven this morning-"

" _What!?_ " He cried, nearly dropping the phone. Elsie glanced up at him from the floor where she was sifting through books, alarmed. "Are you still in labor? You need to get to the hospital…"

 _How will she get to the hospital on a day like this?_

"I am at the hospital, and it's all over," Mary said, a little louder. "There is a story as to how it all happened, but maybe it can wait. The fact is the baby's born and we're both fine."

"Thank God," Charles sighed, sinking into a chair. Elsie got up from the floor, gesturing to him.

"What is going on?" She whispered. He told her that the baby was born, but Mary started talking again.

"-the phone to Matthew, he can fill you in. The nurse just came back."

Charles clicked the button for the speaker phone and set it on the desk. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath.

"Hello, Carson?" Matthew's voice was as calm as ever.

"We're both here," Charles said as Elsie said hello.

"Hello, Mrs. Carson. Well, as you're both listening, I'd best tell you everything now. Mary's fine, and the baby is wonderful…" Matthew trailed off, and Charles and Elsie smiled at each other, thinking the same thing.

 _He's besotted already._

"Mary started having contractions early this morning, like she said. She's been having them on and off for weeks, and we thought it was a false alarm again. But shortly after Robert and Tom picked up George to take him sledding, her water broke. I rang the emergency number, but they were jammed with people calling about accidents. They told us they would try to get us an ambulance, but the roads were so terrible it would likely take some time. Some ambulances had been caught in accidents too, you see. In the middle of talking to the dispatcher, Edith rang Mary's phone to ask if Robert had left his phone here. She was trying to get in contact with him. When Mary told her what was going on, she just told us to wait and she'd be there as soon as she could, and she hung up. Well, you know she lives about a twenty-minute drive from us on a good day-"

"Right," Elsie murmured, her mind whirling.

"-and I thought, how could she get here when the bloody ambulance would have trouble, but in the meantime I was trying to help Mary-"

"Which I'm sure was not easy," Charles muttered. Mary's whole pregnancy had been difficult. He didn't want to think about how she'd be in labor.

"-but what do you know, in less than half an hour Edith showed up at our door! Her editor Laura has a four-wheel drive truck, and apparently on a ski trip several years ago she'd taught both Edith and Michael how to drive the thing."

"And…and so _Edith_ drove you and Mary to the hospital?" Elsie asked. She had a mad desire to laugh, but contained it.

 _The irony._

"She did." Matthew sighed. In the background, they could hear someone talking over a loudspeaker. "I just stepped out in the hall for a moment. I don't mind telling you – I know you'd never repeat any of the details – but when I think about that drive, part of me wants to laugh. Oh, I didn't want to laugh while it was going on, I assure you-"

"Of course not," they said at the same time. Charles's eyebrows were raised, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Elsie bit her lip but she smiled through it.

"-Mary was in a good deal of pain, but she still managed to complain about not wanting to deliver in the back seat of someone's truck. Edith concentrated on driving, but she yelled at Mary to shut it, saying it was more important that she work through her contractions than to sneer about _her_ driving."

Elsie covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter. She could imagine the entire thing.

 _Oh Sybil, how you'd love this!_

"We got to the hospital, and Charlotte Isobel Crawley arrived an hour and a half later, just after noon. Eight pounds, eleven ounces, twenty inches long. Unlike George, she already has a headful of hair. Dark, like Mary's."

"Charlotte…" Charles said softly. Elsie slipped her hand into his.

"So is Marigold at the hospital, too?" She asked. "Is Edith still there?"

"Marigold is at home. Laura's watching her. I think Edith's going to leave in a few minutes…" Matthew stopped abruptly. "Hang on a moment." He talked to someone, then came back to the Carsons. "That was Edith. She's just leaving now. She's going to drop Laura off at home, and take Marigold to Robert and Cora's. Then she'll pick them up and then Isobel, and drive them all over here. Tom's watching the children." His voice grew soft. "The best part about today, other than Charlotte being born, was seeing Edith hold her not ten minutes after she was born. Mary asked Edith _why_ she'd gone to the trouble of driving us herself through a snowstorm, rather than just let a professional driving an ambulance do it. Edith said she'd lost her husband, and she'd lost her younger sister. She wasn't going to risk losing her only living sister, even if it _was_ Mary. I know it sounds trite – but you know Edith."

"Yes, we do," Charles said, squeezing Elsie's hand. _And Mary._

Matthew handed the phone back to Mary. She reassured the Carsons that she really was fine (Elsie gave her silent credit for this, as her husband always worried about the eldest Crawley daughter), and confirmed that her daughter's name was in fact a tribute to Charles.

"The nurse already asked me if I was a fan of the royal family," she said, sounding annoyed. "Since, you know, we have George and now Charlotte. It's ridiculous! Matthew and I were always going to give George his name. That was Matthew's grandfather's name. And Charlotte is named after you of course, Carson."

"Thank you," he said, a lump in his throat. "I am honored."

"You have been a great influence on my life," Mary said. She was unmistakably sincere. "It's only right."

"And it is a fine tribute to him," Elsie agreed, feeling a rare tenderness for Charles's goddaughter. She couldn't resist saying something further. "It was very good of Edith to help you."

"It was. Fortunately, she isn't asking for the moon in return."

Something in her voice made Charles sit up.

"What _did_ she ask for?"

Both of them heard the smile in Mary's voice. "Oh, I won't tell. Not Matthew, not even you, Carson. Edith and I are sisters. And sisters have secrets."

* * *

They took a short walk after ending the conversation. Neighborhood children were out enjoying themselves, and adults were clearing driveways and sidewalks – when they weren't engaging in snowball fights or building snowmen. One woman was making snow angels with her two young daughters.

Charles glanced at their snow-covered driveway and front sidewalk from the street. "I don't want to think about clearing it," he mumbled, gripping his wife's hand so neither of them would slip. "Not today. I'll think about it tomorrow."

"Very wise, Scarlett O'Hara," Elsie teased him.

Walking to the end of their cul-de-sac, they looked down the main road. The snow had mostly stopped, except for a few stubborn flakes still in the air. The main thoroughfare was empty of vehicle traffic. One young man slogging his way through the knee-high snow with his black Labrador said it had been cleared once, but that had been hours before.

"It looks like they haven't been back since," Elsie rubbed her nose. Her eyes watered in the brisk air.

Charles stopped to talk with one of their next-door neighbors before Elsie pulled him away. It wasn't that she didn't want to be friendly, but it was _cold_ outside.

And snow was melting in her boots.

She warmed herself in front of the fire. It was so very nice to have one, she thought.

"Pepper has more sense than we do," she said, sighing as the heat seeped back into her bones. "She's done nothing but lay in the family room all day."

Their puppy snored from her spot next to the recliner.

Charles got out several ingredients for a hearty soup and started chopping vegetables to prepare for it. Elsie went back upstairs to unpack more boxes.

Midway through the afternoon, he found her reading on the window seat with a woven afghan wrapped around her. Spike lay curled on her lap. The afghan was one of their favorites, a pretty blue, green and purple blanket given to them by Margaret Bates.

Elsie looked up, removing her glasses in surprise. "What is this? Cookies? I thought I smelled something sweet!" She shook her head fondly. "You have a sweet tooth, Mr. Carson."

He grinned, setting down a plate of oatmeal cookies. "Fortunately, Mr. Pelham left everything we needed to make these." She took the steaming mug from him. "And the cocoa. I know you prefer tea, but-"

"But nothing," she sipped the hot liquid, liking the marshmallows on top. "Ooh, this is _perfect_. I love you," she beamed up at him, and he bent over to kiss her. "I hope you left some for yourself, too."

"Both cookies and cocoa." He had left the other mug on one of the stairs, afraid he'd drop it on the way up. Retrieving it, he joined her on the window seat. " _A Visit from St. Nicholas_?" he read the cover of the book in her hands. "Whatever made you want to read that? It's April, dear," he sipped some of his cocoa, relishing the warmth as it flowed into his chest. When Elsie raised an eyebrow at him, he winked at her. She laughed.

"Someone mentioned Christmas this morning…and after hearing Mary's news, I remembered you read it to Sybbie and Marigold last year," she said softly. "Now you'll have another wee lass to read to."

"I know a lass I'd like to read it to," he murmured. "If she'd like."

"Yes, I would like it," she handed him the book and held her mug of cocoa between both of her hands.

She loved to hear him read aloud, and he loved to do it.

 _The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow_

 _Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,_

 _When, what to my wondering eyes should appear_

 _But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer…_

"Reindeer would have come in handy earlier," he commented after finishing the famous poem. He set aside the book and picked up his mug, dipping a cookie into it. "Especially for Mary and Matthew."

"But who needs reindeer, when Edith has a four-wheel drive?" She asked, deadpan. They stared at each other, then laughed quietly.

"Marvelous!" He shook his head in wonder. "Who would have guessed _Edith_ would be the one to come to the rescue?"

"I wouldn't have," Elsie said frankly, "But only because she and Mary have been at odds their entire lives."

"I love Mary, and always will, but after Sybil died and they _still_ weren't close…well." Charles ate the rest of his cookie. "I never thought it would happen. It took a late due date and a surprise snowstorm – plus Edith's unknown driving skills – to finally crack them."

 _Thank God._

"They'll never be good friends. It seems that they understand finally that they're sisters, not rivals," Elsie drank some more of her cocoa. "I should put away the rest of these books. They certainly won't put themselves away!" She sighed, pulling a wild strand of hair over her ear. "But it is so nice and cozy here."

"I remembered you reading on the window seat at the Cottage," Charles held out his hand when Spike trotted over to him. "You hardly left that spot while we were there."

"I can hardly believe this is our house," she whispered, suddenly teary. Steam rose from her cup. "This is _our home_. For good."

"Yes it is." He knew what she meant. They had lived almost their entire lives alone, separate. Since their marriage, their personal lives had meshed together almost seamlessly. They liked the house they had before, but it had been his, not really hers.

Now they had a home that was both of theirs, equally. It was a physical reminder of their life together.

She finished her cocoa, feeling thoughtful. It had meant so much to Charles to have a home that was theirs, and not just his. She had been more casual, content to let things happen naturally. But she had fallen in love with this house from the first day she saw it.

They shared a chicken-and-noodle vegetable soup for dinner in front of the fire, along with ham sandwiches. Charles switched on the TV just long enough for them to see the report on the record snow – and that it would likely all melt before the end of the weekend.

"I would rather have a pretty yard like the one outside now, rather than a wet mess of puddles," Elsie muttered. "There's nothing to be done about it. Maybe if you wait long enough, you won't have to shovel the driveway after all!"

"I will shovel it tomorrow," Charles said, handing her a glass of Pinot Noir. "Mary and Lottie will be home by tomorrow afternoon, and I would like to go see them."

"Hopefully the roads will have been cleared at least a little by then," Elsie mused.

While she did the washing-up, he took Pepper outside again and then happily re-built the fire. It was the last of the wood, but he thought it very unlikely they would build another for another six months.

Elsie had just set the timer on the dishwasher when she heard the crackle of the record player.

"Bing Crosby?" She laughed, turning off the main kitchen light. There was only one lamp on. Other than that, the only light came from the dancing flames in the fireplace. "I suppose if we're going to pretend that it's Christmas, we may as well break out all the music, too!"

"You don't mind, do you?" He asked, taking her in his arms and twirling her to the sound of "Mele Kalikimaka". "I feel like it wasn't much of a Christmas in 2016."

He didn't have to say anything more. The memory of Michael Gregson had overshadowed the holidays.

"I don't mind a bit," she said, the corners of her lips turned up. "I was just surprised you got out _those_ records." She reached up, messing with his curls. "You know I'd dance with you to anything."

He was glad that he'd organized the records before packing them away.

 _Otherwise we would have been spending hours digging through boxes._

"Dancing in front of a roaring fire to Christmas music in _April_ ," Elsie sighed, leaning her head against Charles's chest. "I don't mind, but it is rather late for this!"

"Rather like us." He brushed his lips along her hair. He twirled her around, laughing as she pirouetted under his arm.

"Sybbie would like to see you spinning in a circle," he chortled. "We should send her a video of us dancing."

"What? And have Tome plaster it all over Instagram before morning? Never," she huffed, grinning.

"Whew, I need a drink," she said laughing as "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" finished in the background. "Would you like something?"

"Yes, please." He turned to the stack and flipped through it. Finding the one he had seen earlier, he hesitated, but lifted the needle and set it down. The machine crackled to life once more.

"I always thought this song was sad," Elsie sipped her Pinot as she came from the kitchen. She handed Charles his glass. "I'm surprised you put it on."

"Mmm," he murmured, savoring the scent of the wine. He tasted it, then set his glass down on the hearth. "It is, I suppose, but I've always been fond of it."

Elsie stood still, listening as she took another sip. "Does it remind you of Alice? I wouldn't blame you if it did." Her eyes were gentle.

It never ceased to amaze him that she understood him so well. "At one time it did," he stared into the dancing flames. "For obvious reasons. But for a long time it made me think of another woman. One much dearer to me."

"Oh?" She knew he meant her. But she also hoped he wouldn't become melancholy over the years they had walked side by side, but not together.

He took her hand once more, and slid his left arm around her waist, swaying to the music. "Do you remember Christmas Eve, 1994?"

 _Christmas Eve, 199_ _ **4**_ _? No…_

She ran years through her mind. The lyrics of the song reached her ears.

And then she did remember.

"Oh, Charlie," she whispered. "You were so lonely."

"Yes, I was."

"I should have insisted you stay…"

"No, you should not have," he said. "And I was glad you didn't. I was glad you were not like me then, that you weren't alone."

* * *

 _Christmas Eve, 1994_

Loud chatter and laughter made the room a noisy din. Charles slumped his shoulders at the bar.

 _This was a mistake._

 _Staying at home would have been a bigger mistake._

 _Stewing in self-pity, regretting the past._

He sighed, glancing down the bar to make eye contact with Brian. The bartender was busy, mixing an Amaretto Sour. He said something to Eric, who hurried by with another bucket of Budweiser.

All the managing partner had wanted was to have a quiet Christmas Eve at Pedro's. Maybe chat with Brian until the place closed early, and forget his loneliness and pain for several hours before going home to sleep.

 _If I could stop thinking about Alice for five minutes…_

Then in the late morning on Christmas he'd go to Robert and Cora's for brunch. See the girls and give them their presents from him.

But Pedro's this Christmas Eve was anything but quiet. It was a Saturday, for one thing. For another, several local businesses including a few law firms (but not Carson & Crawley) were hosting a party. The place was jammed.

Several friends had hailed Charles earlier, seeing him at the bar, but he had politely turned down their invitations to join them.

None of them understood what he felt. The new medical examiner for the county, Dr. Richard Clarkson, was sympathetic, but Charles didn't know him well enough to feel comfortable telling him the history of his sorry love life.

 _You've never told anyone. Not even Robert._

He swallowed the last of his second bourbon, hoping it would chase away the memory of the woman that haunted him. But no such luck.

Someone kept playing that _bloody_ song.

 _ **Met my old lover in the grocery store**_

 _ **The snow was falling Christmas Eve**_

 _ **I stood behind her in the frozen foods**_

 _ **And I touched her on the sleeve**_

 _ **She didn't recognize the face at first**_

 _ **Then her eyes flew open wide**_

 _ **She went to hug me and she spilled her purse**_

 _ **And we laughed until we cried**_

Tears started in his eyes. He would never meet Alice by chance anywhere, ever again. She had passed away over a year earlier of cancer. For some reason this year it felt worse.

Brian finally made his way over to him at the end of the bar.

"Sorry, Mr. Carson. I'm run off my feet," he gasped, running a hand through his dark hair. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. "Another bourbon?"

"Don't worry about it," Charles waved his hand, dejected. "No...a beer or an ale. Your choice. Just something different, please."

"You got it," the bartender started to say something else, but was hailed by a couple several seats away. His assistant Eric stopped in front of Charles, a rag in his hand.

"Can I help you, Mr. Carson?"

Charles fought not to sigh. The young man was all right, but he was rather dim. _Really, the one time I asked him to bring me a_ **good** _local brew, Stag was NOT what I had in mind!_

"No need, Brian's just…" His voice trailed off as they both glanced at the bartender, who was in conversation with Judge Lawrence. The man was the circuit judge.

"Look, Eric." He raised his voice, making sure he heard him. "I just need something that's unusual. Unusual, not Budweiser or Coors or-"

"No Stag," Eric's earring glinted. He nodded earnestly. "I made that mistake once, Mr. Carson. I won't do it again. You can trust me!"

And he vanished into the back before Charles could say anything else.

00000

The dance floor was so crowded Elsie kept bumping into people. Martin tried to shield her, but it was impossible.

"Let's sit down," he finally said, drawing an arm around her waist. She nodded, and they made their way back to the table.

No sooner had they reached the corner of the room than he pulled her into his arms and pressed a long, lingering kiss against her lips.

"W-what was that for?" She stuttered. She stumbled backwards, feeling her chair against her legs. He held tight, keeping her from falling.

"Do I need a reason to kiss the woman I love?" His brown eyes twinkled. "You're always gorgeous, but tonight you're stunning." He kissed her nose.

"Thank you," she blushed. She kissed him on the cheek, then sank into her chair. She drank some water to buy time. Gather her thoughts.

She cared for Martin Dye a lot. More than she'd cared for anyone since her ex-husband, Daniel Hughes.

She had been in a relationship with the associate from Jones Day for two and a half years. He was a lovely man, with a witty sense of humor and a cheerful outlook on life. He was gentle with Becky.

In short, he was as perfect as she could expect.

Dan Fogelberg's voice floated across the room.

 _ **She would have liked to say she loved the man**_

 _ **But she didn't like to lie**_

They sat catching their breath, watching the other dancers.

"Would you like another drink?" She asked. She really didn't want to get up again, but their glasses had been empty for a long time.

"Yes, please. Another vodka tonic, if you don't mind." He tilted his head, his handsome smile making her heart skip.

"I don't. You got them the last time. Be right back." She got up and walked towards the bar, feeling his eyes on her. Despite her uncertainty, she enjoyed knowing he noticed no one else.

 _And for a woman pushing forty, that is no mean feat!_

The bar was packed. She could barely get close enough to see the bartender, much less make herself heard. She finally squeezed herself in between Judge Julian and a woman talking loudly next to him.

"A vodka tonic," she said as loudly as she could without shouting. Still, Brian cupped a hand around his ear.

"A vodka tonic for Mrs. Hughes," a familiar deep voice rumbled nearby. Elsie turned so fast she felt (but didn't hear) her neck crack.

"Mr. Carson? What are you doing here tonight?" She would have thought her boss would be at church, or with family on Christmas Eve. Though, as she thought about it, she didn't think he had any family.

 _Sad._

"I meant to have a quiet drink tonight. I forgot about the party. I thought Brian would close early, to be honest." The clock above the bar showed it was half past six.

She moved along the bar until she was next to him. He started to get up, but she shooed him down.

"There's no need, I'm just getting drinks for me and Martin."

"Oh. I didn't see him," he said, glancing about the room. "Or you, until just now."

He was very glad to see a familiar face. Especially someone he knew who wouldn't pry and ask more questions like Beryl, or try to drag him into joining a merry group, like Robert.

"It's hard to see anyone in here," she replied, glad to see him even though she had just seen him the day before, when the office closed early. "Are you here with anyone?"

She wondered what kind of woman he would like. She had never heard of him dating anyone in the few years she'd known him.

"No, it's just me," he said, leaning on his elbow. His smile did not quite reach his eyes. "Maybe I should have accepted Ms. Anstruther's invitation," he joked.

She laughed out loud, well aware of the Merton attorney's reputation. " _You_ know better than that."

He chuckled. "I do. I would have called Mrs. Patmore to ask her to join me, but she's gone to her sister's."

Elsie's heart twinged at his expression.

 _He's lonely._

"I expect you'll visit Becky tomorrow."

She was glad he had changed the subject. It surprised her a little that he remembered her sister's name.

"Yes. She's quite looking forward to it. She loves Christmas," she smiled, her face softening at the thought of Becky.

 _The magic of the season was made for her._

"What will she think of your hair?" He asked. The office manager had recently displayed a new hairdo. It was a short one, cropped above her ears. He personally didn't like women having shorter hair, but she pulled it off.

"I think she'll like it. Her own hair is rather short."

"Isn't it cold?" Charles drummed his fingers on the bar. "This time of year, with the wind on the back of your neck-"

He stopped abruptly, mortified. His face grew red.

 _What will she think of me, saying something like that? She'll think it's inappropriate._

Elsie bit her lip in amusement at his embarrassment.

 _He's entirely too proper for his own good._

"Here you are, Mr. Carson, something unusual. I brought out several, in case anyone else wants to try it." Eric opened a bottle and poured the dark liquid into a clean glass. Charles picked up an unopened bottle, frowning.

"'Balmaha Best'? Where on earth did you get this? And what is it?" He squinted at the logo on the bottle. The picture of a stag did not reassure him.

"Brian picked it up when he was in Europe back in September," the wavy-haired young man said, setting down the glass. He closed his eyes, concentrating. "It's a Scottish dark ale…uh….from somewhere close to Loch Ness? No…um…another one…there's a song about it…"

"Loch Lomond?" Elsie supplied, fighting back a laugh.

"That's the one! Thanks, Elsie," He grinned at her. "You look smashing tonight, I don't mind saying it. Is that dress new?"

"It is, thanks. Would you mind pouring a glass of that ale for me? I'd like to try it." She smoothed out a wrinkle on the purple fabric.

The ale wasn't bad. As Charles took another sip, he glanced Elsie's way.

 _She is a very attractive woman._

 _Now stop that. She works with you, and more importantly, she's in a relationship with someone else!_

 _She would never go for someone like you, anyway._

 _Alice didn't._

"Easy, Mr. Carson," Eric said suddenly. "You've already had the bourbon, and before that, the pinot noir."

Charles looked down. His glass was nearly empty. Elsie raised an eyebrow.

"That isn't like you." _Not that I really know what his drinking habits are. Or that it's any of my business._

"Ah, well." He set the glass down on the bar. "It's Christmas Eve."

 _And I've nothing better to do._

"Here you are, Elsie," Brian finally made his way over to them, setting the vodka tonic down. He frowned at Eric. "Why did you bring those out? Did Mr. Carson specifically ask for it-"

"It's all right," Charles said. His head was beginning to feel like it was detached from his body. "I asked for something different. There's no problem."

"I said you could trust me," Eric smiled, rather smug. Elsie rolled her eyes.

Martin joined them, having waded through the crowd. "I'm sorry I sent you over here," he apologized. "I should have known there would be a crush at the bar." He picked up his vodka tonic, thanking Brian, and sipped it. "Mr. Carson! I didn't know you were here."

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Dye," Charles took his offered hand, shaking it. "I was just leaving, actually."

He felt jealousy flood through him. At Martin, at Mrs. Hughes.

 _Why do you care? Of course they are here together. You are just a lonely, sad man._

He paid Eric. Part of him wanted to stay longer, but he knew he was pushing his luck as it was.

And he didn't want to be rude to Mr. Dye, or his office manager.

Elsie watched him leave his seat, her ale forgotten in her hand. The stoop of his shoulders was unlike anything she had ever seen. Martin tugged at her elbow.

"Let's go sit down."

"Just a minute, please." She handed him her drink. The managing partner pulled on his black overcoat. She hesitated for a moment, then said it anyway.

"Are you sure you won't stay for a little while longer, Mr. Carson? It is Christmas after all."

He smiled. It was more like a grimace, and his eyes were tired. "Yes, it is. I'll be fine," he said at her worried look. "I'm going to Mr. Crawley's tomorrow. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hughes."

"Merry Christmas," she murmured. She wanted to say something further, but what, she didn't know.

It was rare for her not to know how to reach someone.

He thought about saying something. That he was glad she wasn't alone, that she didn't live with the memory of someone she couldn't reach.

But words failed him.

He gave her one last half-smile and walked out of Pedro's.

The light snow falling was more like rain.

* * *

Charles rubbed Elsie's back as they swayed silently to the music. "Shhh," he soothed her. "Don't berate yourself. I was glad to talk to you that night. You made me feel less lonely for five minutes, and I appreciated it more than you knew. Or maybe it was Eric who made me feel better," he joked. She did laugh at that, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Oh, definitely Eric," she chuckled. She sighed, listening to the song. "Martin and I broke up a few months after that," she remembered. "I think part of me saw it coming. Maybe. I took it hard at the time, but in retrospect of course it was the right thing." She looked up at him. Her eyes were bright. "I have _you_ now."

 _ **I said the years had been a friend to her**_

 _ **And that her eyes were still as blue**_

 _ **But in those eyes I wasn't sure if I saw**_

 _ **Doubt or gratitude**_

"You were beautiful then," he rumbled, brushing a kiss on her forehead. "But nothing like now. Today."

"Flatterer," she shook her head. "Wrinkles all over, body parts sagging…"

He pulled her chin up. "Beautiful. Don't argue with me, Mrs. Hughes," he wagged his eyebrows. "You'll never win that argument."

 _ **She said she saw me in the record stores**_

 _ **And that I must be doing well**_

 _ **I said the audience was heavenly**_

 _ **But the traveling was Hell…**_

"Record stores!" She brushed her hair back from her face. "If that doesn't date the song now, I don't know what does!" She wrapped her arms tighter around her husband. "I could never imagine you as a traveling musician, could you?"

"Never," he scoffed. "I've always loved routine. Order. Being home in my natural state." He grinned down at her and they kissed, tasting the wine on each other's lips. "I never wanted to travel much," he murmured as she clasped her hands around the back of his neck. "And as the years went by, I found more and more reasons to stay close to home…I always forgot important things when I _did_ travel." They smiled, thinking of his winter coat. "But if I traveled it meant I was far from you. And I didn't want that."

"Well," she murmured, running a hand down to his chest, "We can travel together after you retire. You said you would tell Robert and the others after the baby was born," she said. "I hope you haven't changed your mind."

He lifted her hand on his chest and kissed it, turning it over to nuzzle her palm and wrist. "Not at all."

The record player went to static and they broke apart. He started the song over.

"Before we dance again," her eyes sparkled in the glow of the fire, "I propose a toast."

He took his glass from her. "To what? Christmas?"

"Time. To the unexpected, and the routine. To snow in April, and Fridays at Pedro's – which we're missing tonight," she reminded him. "They're closed, anyway. To our spirit children making appearances when _they_ want to, and our furry children close by. To the time we have together. To us," she clinked his glass.

"To us." He finished his wine. They set their empty glasses high on the shelf above the hearth.

 _ **We drank a toast to innocence**_

 _ **We drank a toast to time**_

 _ **Reliving, in our eloquence**_

 _ **Another "Auld Lang Syne"…**_

The record player crackled forgotten long after they finished dancing. Pepper and Spike chased each other around the playroom upstairs.

In the dim light of the fire, Charles cried out as Elsie moved above him on the couch. He grabbed her hips, thrusting slowly, maddeningly, until she came undone, keening, her hands on his chest. They slept together in a tangle of limbs, warm and sated in their new home.

The heater turned on.

Outside, the snow began to fall a little heavier as the night deepened.


End file.
